


Grin and Bear It

by firewerewolf101



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 76 finding you endearing, Age Difference, Angst, Anxiety, Australian Slang, Communication, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Reader, Happy Ending, Inner Dialogue, Like really slow, Military Backstory, Missions, Panic Attacks, Reader is Australian, Reader-Insert, Reading Aloud, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Self-degredation, Slow Burn, Swearing, Time Travel, Undercover Missions, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Voice Kink, ill add more tags as it goes, just names, reader calling 76 american, reader finding reminders of home, slang differences, there's a lot going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewerewolf101/pseuds/firewerewolf101
Summary: You're a 27 year old military Lance Corporal. You'd think that'd be good thing, but on a covert mission gone south, will you ever get to go home? Or will you adapt and find comfort right where you are? oh, and maybe you hadnt heard, apparently time travel is a thing?





	1. No Way Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Misconduct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572498) by [Antiloquist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiloquist/pseuds/Antiloquist), [FiveTail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveTail/pseuds/FiveTail). 



> Welcome to the start of this project! I want to learn to write better and more efficiently, so please, criticism is always welcome! Enjoy!  
> If you've reached this point, welcome! I am undergoing a process of editing what I have to far to expand this story (each chapter should honestly have 10,000 words so that's what I'm aiming for in the editing process!) please enjoy what is here and don't forget that it may change as new chapters are updated!

Left. _In._ Right. Left. _Out._

Feet pounding the dirt forest path. Child slung over your back. A wetness seeping over your clothes. Panic closing your throat. Your lungs burned inside your chest with every breath. This was your fault. Your _responsibility._ This was all your fault, the blood soaking through your shirt, having used your jacket to tie off the injury. The _open wound_. The small whimper and dry sobs didn’t sneak past you. She was trying not to cry, she was scared you were mad. Jesus knew you were furious, but not at her – never your baby _sister._ It wasn’t her fault, you were mad at yourself, how _dare_ you think that going for a walk in the forest with her was safe. _How fucking could you_ let _this happen? Idiot!_

You ran faster.

Over rocks and tree roots. Jumping and almost slipping on the wet stones across the creek, your feet slammed against the ground. She needed first aid, you didn’t think about it, didn’t think about the consequences – _how stupid could you be? Letting her fall like that?_ Your feet pounded against the already compacted dirt ground. well-worn with time, the momentum slowly pushing to the point of toppling over. The path twisted on what felt like forever until you saw the tell-tale signs of nearing home. She could be bandaged up and she could stop bleeding if she hadn’t already. The crying that had started becoming louder, you could tell she couldn’t keep a brave face. But you were still so _damn_ proud of her for being so strong, even when you were panicking.

You stepped over a log, running towards the edge of the forest and towards the back gate to your Aunt’s house, your _home_. Storming up to the door, you had to readjust your grip on your little sister as you got it open. Stepping inside as though you were a one-person army storming a castle, you ran over to the old leather couch you had spent too many nights sleeping on. Placing her carefully down so you wouldn’t put her in so much pain due to the jostling of having had ran about a half of a kilometre.

You rushed to the bathroom, around the corner at the end of the hall. You tore open the cupboard under the vanity, blood now covering the front of the cabinet. Yanking the first aid kit out and throwing yourself back to your sisters’ side, you scrambled to perform basic first aid as you took your cell-phone from your pocket. Your fingers slipped uneasily over the buttons, dialling triple zero. Each breath a struggle as you placed the warm, wet device between your shoulder and ear.

“[Y]--[Y/N]!” You hear her sob as you heard your phone tell you that it had insufficient funds to make the call. _Regretting buying groceries this week now, aren’t you? You fucking pig._ You pushed the thoughts away and tried again, weren’t emergency calls supposed to be free?

“It’s okay, Mari, it’s okay.” Your phone dialled out as you took her hand.

“Hello, you’ve reached triple zero, fire, police, or ambulance.”

“Hello? I need an ambulance! – my sister – she’s hurt.” You called into the phone as you shakily tried to cleaned her wounds – the amount of blood covering your hands was astounding. Etching into your mind like an iron poker.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” He couldn’t hear you – you looked at your phone, covering it with fresh blood from your hands, only one bar – _shit._ You didn’t know where to start. Your throat felt tight. It was becoming harder to breathe.

“My sister!” You repeated with urgency, voice cracking with desperation and thick with emotion as you tried to stop the bleeding. But everything was becoming quiet. You sisters cries, the sound of the man on the other end of the phone asking if someone was there.

You felt your shirt stick to your back with blood that wasn’t yours and covering your hands as you looked at her leg, foot at an awkward angle. What if it was broken? _Oh god, what if you had broken her ankle? If your Aunt found out, she would kill you!_ Setting to work trying to make a splint for it in case, you tried your best to calm down, look at the situation logically. Remove your emotion and panic from the task at hand. It was so hard. You didn’t think you could do this. All you had was some duct tape, towels and the iron pokers from the fireplace. If you couldn’t get help, you’d try yourself. You had to help her. It was _your fault._ But you could fix this.

You wouldn’t be useless.

-

It had been eleven years since you made that promise to yourself, not to be useless anymore. Having joined the military ten years ago. You were a Lance Corporal, by official terms, denying any possible promotion to the title of Corporal due to your “lack of leadership ability.” Which was just to say that one of the higher ups didn’t particularly like you or your opinions. That didn’t stop you from working efficiently with your team and living life in the army – currently deployed for a twelve-month tour in Russia, due to the alliance the American president, one Mr. Trump, had formed with their government. You had been touring previously with American soldiers and it seemed the most logical source of action. Given the alliances of your country. Not that you agreed, you had family back home that you missed. God, what would it feel like to see them again after so long apart?

Walking out from the sleeping quarters into the open, cold air of the base, your attention was called to the main tent, the rest of your four-man squad already standing at attention in front of your commanding officer. His sharp American accent carrying over to your ears, indicating that he was giving a briefing. It struck you as odd that you weren’t notified due to your seniority over them as squad leader. Making your way over, you adopted the same straight as a board stance they were already sporting. The glare from the commanding officer in front of you sent electricity across your skin, muscles tensing as he continued with the briefing he was addressing to your associates. Not an uncommon sight to your comrades.

“The facility is located here –” he pointed to a portion of the map with the coordinates 65◦38’17” North 99◦33’09” East. “Forty-Eight hours from now, you will report any note-worthy intelligence. Complications are to be dealt with _quietly_.”

He glared at each of you, announcing that you would be departing tomorrow morning at 0300 before your squad were each dismissed. To your dismay, not only had you missed most of the briefing, you were left standing there. The higher ranked officer looking you over as if you were the mud and slick that clung to the underside of the bases’ vehicles. The feeling in the air becoming threatening and so tense that it could be cut with a rusted knife.

“Watson, if you weren’t being deployed on this mission I’d tie you to a _fucking_ tree and leave you to starve.”  His voice was low, malice dripping from every syllable, and changing position to stand directly in front of you. “You are the _leader_ of a squad handling classified intelligences. I can’t have the weakest link in the chain be the _fucking leader._ ”

You remained stoic, he was right after all and speaking was too dangerous in this situation. He might literally tie you to one of the trees littered around. Not that he hadn’t almost done similar before.

“I don’t want any complications. All mistakes will fall on you. I won’t have the rest of your team suffer because of your insolence. Is that clear?” You nodded.

“I said; is that clear, soldier.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Better. Go clean the ACVs. Be prepped for departure – and _don’t_ you _dare_ be late.”

 

ACV packed, and your squad loaded, you were filled in on the mission specifications. Russian science facilities were undergoing a security check due to allegations on a new type of tech being developed. The mission itself was new to you, but by no means was it against your line of work, however it still left you with a feeling of trepidation. There wasn’t much you could really gain in the first forty-eight hours if you were posing as security. You sat back and shut your eyes, rifle sitting in your lap, hands poised to pick it up and shoot if required. you needed to have at least a half hour of sleep or you’d be useless. You refused to be useless, besides. Your commander wasn’t breathing down your neck, and your ‘brothers-in-arms’ were already accustomed to your polyphasic schedule.

When you awoke, around two hours later, it was due to Jenks kicking at your feet. He had a smile on his face. “Can’t sleep for too long.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You said to him, a small smile forming on your face.

“Fuck you, Watson.” He retorted. Your gaze momentarily turning to Mouse and Sprint. Of course, they weren’t their real names, but you accepted it as part of your day-to-day with them.

“How long until we get to Ground Zero?” you asked, rubbing your eyes and looking back to Jenks.

“Around four hours or so.” He nodded to your companions. “Boys wanted to get some sleep before we got there. Figured You’d keep me some company while we wait.”

“Fair. How’s the Mister?” You watched as his face lit up.

“Getting’ ready to adopt our kid in about six months. As long as everything here goes smoothly, I’ll probably get to go see Bubs get born.”

“’Get born’?” You repeated with a smile. “Best hope he doesn’t hear you talk like that. He’s probably correcting you all the way back in Texas now.”

He chuckled and looked down at his watch. “He’s probably asleep actually.”

“Figures. These time zones are a bitch sometimes.” You reached into your pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. Jenks looked at you.

“Yer looking at that little star again, aren’t you?” he asked, leaning forward.

You nodded and leaned forward, turning the photograph towards him. “Can’t go anywhere without at least one to brighten up my day. Why can’t I have this one in particular?”

“I can’t believe she was eight there. How old is she now?”

“She turns eighteen in a few weeks.” You smile at the photo. _You wouldn’t miss her right now if you hadn’t have joined the army._

“Hey, what’s with that look?” He starts. “You’re lookin’ a bit depressed there.”

You look up at him, shaking away both your negative thoughts, and his concern. “It’s nothin’ really. Just don’t think I’ll be getting the all-clear to give her a call this year.”

“Can’t send her a letter?”

“Asters’ been holding mine, remember? I don’t know if she’s sent me any.” He nods at you.

“You’re not confident they’re getting out then?”

“Or if she’s changed her address.”

“Yeah…” he sighs and looks back to the photo. “Well, if I know you as well as I think I do. That’s not gonna stop yer stubborn ass from gettin’ back to her.”

You spoke with Jenks for the rest of the trip to the research facility, the topics ranged from your star back home, his husband, even the details you missed in the briefing. As it turned out, the intel on the facility had said something about some tests going wrong, and that they weren’t coming back with enough reports. It was suspicious, and, with the race to develop new tech, you could see how that could be perceived as a problem if you were working with another country. All it really did was remind you of group projects back in high school.

Arriving at the facility, you found the entire premises was empty and obviously ransacked, if the lack of security detail was anything to go by. The ACV was a few hundred metres south, leaving an impossible feat if you were shot at due to it being your only EVAC point. Sending half your squad around to the north of the premises, you made the decision to flank south, and look not only for survivors but for any potential threats. The gates were already unlocked upon arrival. Another candidate leaning towards a death sentence. You would ordinarily report this right away, but the radio chatter could be useless if the facility was deadening contact out of the premises.

This wasn’t something you would’ve seen yourself doing almost a lifetime ago, wearing sturdy boots, feeling too loose from not having retied them in a while. Nylon camouflaged military jacket, black shirt, and dark military pants, all of which was standard issue with a few modifications on your part. All whilst conducting highly dangerous work with the implication of no government help if any of your team was caught.

You swept the area, Jenks, your right hand doing the same to clear before moving on. The main floor of the facility looked to be a loading bay. Crates of equipment stacked up un neat piles around the general vicinity. A few had papers stuck to them, probably for organisation. However, no one was inside. It left the facility with an eerie feeling to it. The lights weren’t on, the sunlight filtering through to show the dust in the air, most of which was filtering from outside.

You turned on the torch at the end of your rifle, using it to clear the darker areas of the room as you walked over to a desk. You looked at the ground first, paper, pens and other potential intel scattered about. Crouching down, you looked down at the papers. Most of it had terrible handwriting scrawled along the pages. Some of it were what you assumed were types copies of different reports. You caught some names, but they meant nothing to you, or the mission at hand. You turned to the computer monitors. Turning one on, you were met with a blue light, a single line of test at the top left of the screen. It looked like that facility had power, but the computers themselves were useless.

You furrowed your eyebrows and continued, pressing the button on your communicator to inform your team of your findings. Frowning when you heard static, you continued onto another room. It was the server room for the floor, the casing around the hard drives, cables, and other equipment in building servers, ensured that none of the dust in the main room of the facility interfered with the servers. You took note and decided it was something you would have to set Mouse to hack and gather intel from. You spent a few minutes ensuring the room was clear in case there was something you had the potential to overlook.

Turning and exiting the room, you moved to the next one. The room looked to be a main office, which caught your attention immediately, an office you could work with. You searched through the small, ransacked room, under the desk, behind filing cabinets, clearing it of potential threats and any potential workers. Again, the room was empty. The feeling you got so far was increasingly suspicious, but your orders were clear, and if you didn’t come back with _something_ you were sure that your Commanding Officer would make good on his promise. You didn’t fancy the idea of being tied to a tree. _Not like it matters, you deserve it._

You started to go through the contents of the desk, there were a few forms that had only been half completed. The computer didn’t work, which you expected, what you found, however, was a schematic to the building. You look over the blueprint carefully, taking note of the different layout of each floor. There were three test labs, four server rooms, another two offices, and another loading bay. All set out in an extremely specific way.  You turned your attention to the contents of the draws, you found about what you’d expect. Paper, pens, manila folders with nothing in them. Nothing useful.

You couldn’t call it in, and there was no way to check in with your squad until you met them outside once again. You hadn’t heard any disturbances yet, but that didn’t mean there weren’t complications. With everything falling onto you as squad leader, you certainly hoped that there hadn’t been any interferences. You moved over to the filing cabinet, you pulled it open, the files inside were scattered and untidy. _Some filing system_. Just what had _happened_ to the people in this facility?

You sorted through the files, looking at the titles, trying to find out what could have happened, and some useful info. So much of it was dated a good few years back. Perhaps research into whatever they were testing? The last file you picked up was dated around twelve months ago, and titled Project Streamline. The large ‘classified’ written over the text didn’t deter you from pulling it out and opening the file. It had schematics in it, but no real information. There _had_ to be more information around here somewhere. The schematics were of a machine, perhaps if you could find it, you’d be able to find out more.

You took the contents of the folder, folding it and tucking it into your back pocket. Figuring that you would at least have _something_ to show for this mission if nothing else. You searched through the rest of the floor but found nothing useful. You did, however, almost become trigger happy when Jenks footsteps registered in your ears on the second floor. When you saw him, he looked just as concerned at you felt.

“Jenks.” You said, voice low. “Anything?”

He looks at you and shakes his head, his voice matching your tone. “Nothing on this floor. Mouse needs to check the servers. Powers out though.”

“Top floor split?” you ask as the two of you find a staircase.

“Looks like we have to.” He places a hand heavily on your shoulder, nodding at you before heading left.

Turning right, you found what looked to be one of the test labs. You opened the door, the sound of the heavy door on strong hinges caused you to tense. Walking into the large space, you found stationary, research, equipment and general non-critical intelligence scattered everywhere. The room was mostly empty besides from the desk near the door, and the separation between the desk and the rest of the lab itself, linked by an internal door. A machine caught your attention, like nothing you had ever seen before. Well, not in person. You took the schematic from your pocket, unfurling it and placing it against the glass of the window separating the lab and testing desk.

It matched.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you walked over to, and pried open the heavy sliding door, the sound of it unsealing like a fridge door that hadn’t been opened for a long time. The air was stale, your bootsteps echoing much louder on the hard floor. Your gaze fell to clearing the room, despite feeling as though the room was empty. The room only held the machine in it. Standing in the middle of the room, you turned to the machine again –  you knew that you really couldn’t hope to understand it just by looking at it, not that you had the time to do so.

A feeling of unease grew over you, something about this room was wrong. You took a few steps around the machine, tentative, with your rifle drawn, sweeping to re-clear the room. Boot-falls thudding as your gaze circled everywhere you had a clear view of. You had made your way to the middle of the room, next to the machine, investigating it now. Just what was it? You reached into your pocket, taking a small camera from your utility belt and took a few digital photographs of the machine. The schematics told you nothing of how it worked, just that it _was._ You weren’t sure what left you so uneasy, not knowing, or _finding out_.

Your eyebrows drew together as a gnawing began at your mind. It the suspicion that there were no staff present. Even more so that many doors were unlocked. The anxiousness that came with not knowing. Were you just that _useless_ that you couldn’t find simple intel on the facility? You bit your lip, that couldn’t be it. You _refused_ to be useless, not anymore. The movement of what sounded like the crumple of paper came from behind you.

_Check your six, soldier._

You turned so fast that you slipped backwards. Grasping the first thing your hands could land on. Which happened to be the machine behind you. Everything stopped. A feeling of weightlessness and heaviness all at once as things felt too fast and too slow all at once. A force not unlike a freight train hit you, making you feel heavy and exhausted, body aching.

_What the fuck was going on?_

-

You awoke with an intense ringing in your ears. An ache running throughout your _entire_ body. It started in your deadened feet, up your legs, torso, your arms, down through your fingertips, and up into your cranium. Light blinded you as you opened your eyes. Everything was sluggish and heavy, the sounds around you were overwhelming with the spiking headache hindering your senses. Everything felt so _loud_ , so overwhelming. The air smelled synthetic, like fresh buildings. There was the sound of a car passing, it blew everything louder into your already over loaded ears. It was all so overwhelming, and you hadn’t even _looked_ around properly yet.

The feeling of danger was suddenly prevalent. You pushed through the pain of your body, everything painful, the beat of your heart speeding up as adrenaline shot through your veins like lightning. Groaning, you forced your screaming muscles to _just work_ with you. Give you a sense at what had happened. Figure out why it was so goddamned loud and overwhelming. Where even were you? Pulling your legs under you, one knee up with a foot flat on the ground. You pushed yourself up, everything begging you to just lay on the ground and give you a moment to recover. Your eyes slowly adjusted as you took the time to do this, gaze flicking around you. Heart picking up again, faintly causing you to wonder if you were going to have a heart attack.

You were on the corner of a street. Nowhere near the facility.  Everything was sleek, plants so _green._ It looked like the saturation of the world had been turned up. Everything hurt, and you were in a jarringly unfamiliar environment. The people wore clothes that you didn’t understand. The sun was bright, and your eyes hurt. _Why_ did everything hurt?

You looked over yourself. Your jacket was torn, there was blood on your pants leg. Was it yours? You didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to entertain the idea of having gotten yourself hurt. It would only slow you down. There were a few passers-by who simply walked past. They seemed as though they didn’t want anything to do with you. Their gazes politely snobbish. One passer-by did stop however, asking if you were alright, you think. The ringing was intense. You felt cool hands on you, disorientating you as you were pulled onto your feet. Your stance properly balancing out on your after a few moments, the dizziness becoming less overwhelming. You lifted your gaze to meet the person who pulled you up and almost fell all over again.

There in front of you, was what seemed to be a _fully-functioning_ robot. No wires. No controllers. Nothing to suggest an external port in operating. It held the silhouette of a regular person, metal shaped like real limbs. Its face the only thing that really stood out as non-human despite the colour of its ‘skin.’ Such a sophisticated piece of technology was _almost_ as jarring as the fact that you were in a _completely_ foreign environment. Eyes widening, you stumbled back against the wall behind you. The robot looked at you with what you guessed was probably concern, head tilting a few degrees the right. It didn’t exactly have a moving facial structure. You reached into your holster and fondled clumsily for your sidearm. You aimed it at the ground between you, arms shaking. Attempting to force yourself to listen past the ringing which had dulled only enough to just make out individual sounds.

“Where am I?” you asked in a pointedly, if not highly distressed, voice that was somewhat hoarse. The robot seemed worried, almost flinchingly so. Unresponsive for several _long_ seconds.

“You’re on the corner of King’s Row.” They responded, worry and fear in their AI voice. You grew confused, and significantly more distressed.

“Where the _fuck_ is King’s Row?” You glared at the robot, who didn’t answer fast enough for your growing impatience. You raised the gun towards the sky and pulled the trigger. The sound, not unlike that of lightning rang out and echoed, leaving a painful jolt down your aching frame. A scream down the street alerted to that someone had seen, or heard you pull the trigger. You didn’t think so much as felt the panic that grew intensely within you, your heartbeat adding to the mix of sound in your ears. Gaze flicking around and back at the robot. “Where is the closest city?”

“Y-you’re in London.” The robot replied, voice panicked and arms out defensively in front of them, as if you were going to shoot them next.

_London?!_

The next thing you heard was the sound of police sirens in the distance, _getting closer._ You swore, for the umpteenth time and took off running. Gun gripped tightly in hand. Thoughts chastising you for making an idiot call. _Shooting in the middle of a heavily populated area? Really?_ Legs screaming, knowing that you would be in for a hell of a time in whatever god forsaken reality you were in. Was all of this even real?

You turned down an alley way, finding the streets too open. Too vulnerable. It was too bright outside. You’d be spotted if you didn’t find a place to hide. But where would you even find that kind of solace? Maybe this was all a trick and you could go back… but back where? You couldn’t remember. It was foggy, too hazy to get a clear grasp. Maybe you hit your head a bit too hard. You knew you weren’t supposed to be in London.

Leaping onto a dumpster and over a wire mesh fence, you took a moment to assess your surroundings, legs screaming at you. There was a fire escape to your right, quite possibly leading to the roof of the building. A set of windows high above you on your left. The dank alley wasn’t more than about three metres. Maybe about 9 feet in width. You could make it. Moving under the fire escape, you jumped up onto an unstable box. You turned, crouching to balance and get the maximum amount of spring as you leapt up grasping the bottom bar of the retracted metal ladder. The pile of boxes falling over. Swinging your hands, and using your legs for momentum, you started to climb. It was hard, body protesting in the dangerous situation you had placed yourself in. But adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

On the sixth rung up you pulled your legs up onto the platform. The sirens were louder now. You could hear the law enforcement officers shouting to each other as they searched for the one who had been shooting. Looking for _you._ Climbing up the stairs towards the higher floors of the building, you ducked behind plants, crates, anything that could potentially serve as cover from the view of the officers below. Only a few more floors now and you’d reach the top floor of the building. All the while, your body down to your bones continued to beg, to stop. You counted your footsteps and ran as quietly and quickly as possible.

_One, two, three, fo--_

You heard a shout. looking down, you saw one of the officers walking down the alley you had come down, on the other side of the fence. _Dammit._ You got down as low as you could, moving behind a crate covered by a cloth, probably used as a table. You watched as he inspected they alleyway. They looked like the other robot you had encountered earlier. It sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation growing as goose bumps flared over your skin. Would they spot you? If you were arrested there was no way you could explain your situation. You weren’t supposed to be here.

You chanced crawling as quietly as you could to the next level, taking advantage of the cloth at the top of the stairs. You chanced a look. The officer was scanning the fire escape. You held your breath, blood like ice in your veins as you pressed yourself flat against the side railing. Your legs turning to lead. The ringing in your ears an annoyance that left you wondering how long you had to wait until you could move once again. Your hands were shaking, this was different than being out on the field. It was in a city. This wasn’t an open field or a sweltering forest. It was a _city_ full of _people_.

You cast your gaze to the floor above you, the top level of the fire escape, and thus, the access to the roof. Somewhere they wouldn’t be able to see you from the ground. The thought of being away from the eyes of the police, in an environment you didn’t feel was safe at all what short lived as the sensation of being watched flooded your senses. You froze. You had to find a work around. A plan B. A way out of the eyes of the authorities.

You looked at the floor you were on. There wasn’t really anything you could use, was there? There were potted plants, tarps and other items that were too large to throw. Your eyebrows furrowed. You had to have something _small._ Preferably that would create a large enough distraction to take the officers’ attention for several seconds. But what did you have that you do that? You looked down at your hands, and then down at yourself. Your pistol sat in its holster. Your _pistol_ , it had bullets in it, obviously, but would they provide enough of a distraction?

You took the clip from the handle and sat the pistol in between your legs, eyebrows furrowing as you carefully removed two bullets from the clip. You placed them into your pocket as you reloaded the clip into your pistol, returning it to its’ holster. You turned your gaze behind you, looking carefully to the alley way. The had to be a certain trajectory you could take to get at least one of your bullets to land in a way that would lead to your escape.

You found that the ringing was back as you tried to think, you could hear each breath you took, deep and anxious. You could almost see the calculations you were making in your head, written out for you to take in any and all contingencies. You took the first bullet out of your pocket and threw it, aiming for the pavement behind the officer.

Ducking, you heard a small, sharp _pop_. You chanced a look out to where the officer was standing, he was turned around, walking towards the street to investigate. You carefully went up the stairs, the movement itself causing more protesting from your aching legs.

At the top level of the escape, you looked down again, the officer was still facing his back to you. Leaning back, you let out a quiet breath. Looking up to see how far you had left to climb before you’d be seated on the roof. Another three metres roughly. You didn’t think you’d make it that far, not with the fresh blood you could feel on your leg, and the dull ache settling in your already exhausted bones. Maybe if you just rested for a minute, you’d be fine.

 

You awoke once again to a someone patting your cheek, distinctively British accent trying to talk to you. Senses becoming overloaded, you felt the cool air against your skin, the quieter sound of pedestrians and other civilians, the same synthetic tinge to the air, the warmth of their hand.  The feeling of danger and insecurity filled you as you opened your eyes, noting the darkness of evening. You took hold of the persons’ wrist with your left hand, glaring up at them, and reaching for your weapon. The person in front of you, was, in fact, a young woman. Her eyes covered by a type of orange safety googles.

“Hello, love. Are you alright?” She asked, her voice laced in a cheerful sort of concern. She didn’t seem too worried about the grip you had on her wrist. She looked like she was used to this sort of encounter. You took half a moment to take in your surroundings while she awaited an answer. Still seated on the fire escape.

“M’fine.” You croaked out, voice rather hoarse, throat like sandpaper. You weren’t in optimal health. The young woman in front of you looked rather surprised at you for a moment, until you shifted. Upon sensing the pain, your hand tightened its grip on her wrist. God, it _hurt_. What the hell happened to you? It wouldn’t have slipped past her if you wrote ‘I’m wrecked’ on your forehead in big, block letters.

“Are you hurt?” She asked, voice an attempt at reassuring. Her free hand falling gently on your shoulder. Her gaze running over you to look for injuries. You however, were pushing yourself into the wall at this point. You were caged by her concern. You didn’t know who the strange, all to ready to help woman was. For all you knew she was going to arrest you.

Heart beating faster, you made the most instinctive, impulsive and _stupid_ move possible. you brought your legs up quickly and used your feet to harshly send her sprawling backwards, limbs protesting with both effort and strain it caused. You looked around as the young woman got her bearings, you climbed onto the railing and pulled yourself up. Panic and adrenaline overbearing the pain of moving. You set both feet on the roof before she could grab at you. However, a few steps across the new vantage point, she _appeared_ in front of you in a flash blue. You stumbled, and she grasped your hands before you could fall back, sending a jolt of pain up your arms. Your skin on fire, and joints wanting to come undone. Her gaze was a little annoyed, but still rather confused, if not concerned.

“Love, I’m just trying to help. I can get you some help if you’re hurt.” She sighed, as she regained her cheery composure. “What do ya say, hm?”

Would it be so bad to just accept the help from this concerned stranger? She did appear out of nowhere, and she was dressed rather strangely. _Don’t be stupid_ your mind chastised. You shook your head, you weren’t going to accept her help.

“Don’t be daft,” she tried to reason, her hands tightening their grip on you to tug forward so you could stand on your feet. “Let’s get you some help. It looks like you did a number on your leg.”

Your mind raced as she spoke to you, it felt condescending, like you had to be coddled like a child. You didn’t _want_ to go with her, it felt _unsafe_. You shook your head, body moving before you could think it through properly. Hands twisting to removed themselves from her grasp as you stepped back, rather stupidly forgetting that there was no surface in that particular direction – god, maybe you weren’t worthy of your rank.

Everything happened so slowly and yet so quickly all at once. The feeling of weightlessness falling over you again, only supplemented by the sense of being pulled _down_ farther than you had been standing. The woman in front of you became aware of your stupidly self-inflicted situation. You heard her voice, but not her words as air rushed over you and past your ears. A flash of blue and a rather hard bump on the head was all you processed before blacking out..

-

The young British woman, Tracer, felt bad. When she found you lying on the fire escape, she thought that you might’ve been looking for a place to sleep. It wasn’t the most uncommon sight in the world – seeing someone who could’ve been regarded as homeless. Your clothes had been torn and were, admittedly, rather dirty. What else was she supposed to think? Waking up and hearing your voice had been a shock. Her initial though was that maybe you were drunk, but she hadn’t found the scent of liquor on you. That only meant one thing.

You were Australian.

She wasn’t sure what had surprised her more, your nationality, accent, or the fact that you weren’t loud and uncivilised like the people left behind back in your home country. It made you somewhat of a rarity in her line of work. Her caring nature left her with the desire to help you, she knew you were in pain, and when you fell, an unsightly gash on your head opened. She had to get you help.

She had known she couldn’t go to the hospital, should she be recognised and arrested due to her not exactly _legal_ heroics. So, instead she had taken you to the relatively underground, Overwatch safehouse in London. Her friend, and partner on duty, Lucio, had been stationed with her, their investigation leading them to London, where she found you. Which, in her line of work, had been complete luck.

That’s what lead to now, a week after she had found you. Tracer seated outside the infirmary of the New Overwatch HQ facility. Resident medic on the scene, having not allowed anyone near you since you were admitted into her care. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Tracer from asking after you, for your progress. Even if you’d be up and walking around soon. Sadly, nothing had come of it besides from the fact that the doctor had put you into an induced coma while she did tests and administered what she thought was the best treatment to get you up and running again.

Tracer really couldn’t get the look on your face out of her head either. Shock, pain, and then anger all mixed into a horrible expression of someone who looked cornered. Had she made you feel like that? Backed you to far that you felt like you had to run away? It brought to her an understanding as to why you had reacted the way you did. Kicking her off you like that. She could tell you were strong from the force in it.

Maybe she’d get the chance to ask you. Well, not until you were in good health. Besides, maybe you would grow to hang around and talk to her about it all on your own. Even sign up to the new overwatch once you were well enough? She certainly hoped so.

“Lena.” Doctor Ziegler called for her, suddenly derailing her train of thought. Her gaze snapped up to the doctor who was looking down at a file with her eyebrows furrowed.

“How is she, Angela?” Was the first question out of her mouth, concern evident as she stood, the expression on her face earnest.

“Tell me again, where did you find the young woman?” Angela’s pen tapped against your file.

“Out in King’s Row. After the posting in France. We had to go to London.” Lena’s gaze fell to you, lying in one of the hospital beds in the infirmary.

“And you said you found her unconscious?”

“Yes. And, as I said in my report, when I was trying to help her, she had a dreadful fall. Hit her head against the railing of a fire escape.” She watched as Doctor Zeigler furrowed her eyebrows, rubbing her fingers against her temple and turning to walk into the infirmary. Lena following her. The room itself filled with familiar scanners, monitors, medical equipment and the smell of disinfectant.

“I have some concerns.” Angela’s voice was strained, as though she hadn’t been sleeping. Lena furrowed her eyebrows.

“Concerns? What’s wrong? Is she going to be alright?” Her questions only caused a tired sigh from Doctor Ziegler. She watched as she ran her fingers through some of her blonde hair, tucking some behind her ear. Angela walked to her desk, the sound of your constant heart beat filling the room ofr a few moments. Tracer found a number of files stacked neatly on the desk.

“I’m not certain of her condition. I will have to consult Winston about this.”

“Talk to Winston… what’s wrong with her?”

“Her ribs are bruised, I have mended the wound in her leg. Her other minor injuries have healed rather well so far. However, it is her mind… despite the injury… there is an abnormally large amount of activity in this coma she is under.” She had started mumbling to herself as she looked over her reports and data. “It is moderately alarming.”

“Why is that concerning?” She asked, a slight bit confused. How was having an overactive brain a bad thing? “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

Angela runs her hands over her face, the lines painted over her face from stress only added to her look of exasperation as she looked down to the file she had. Mostly full of scans, the information Lena had told her, and a list of your personal effects. “It is… unclear, at this stage, Lena.”

“You’ll be able to fix her up, though, won’t you?”

“We shall see.” Ziegler told her, flipping over to a new page. “If she wakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading!  
> \- T.R. <3
> 
> Edited 8.03.2018


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your belongings?”  
> “I was – In London. All the items I had on my person. My jacket and its’ contents, specifically.”  
> “Your clothing was mended and cleaned.”  
> “Did – Did you check the pockets?”

When you awoke, you were blinded by fluorescent lighting, the sheer brightness causing you to close your eyes and suppress a groan. You attempted to remain calm as you heard the distinct beeping of a heart monitor, the buzzing of lights and electricity active across the entire room. Your mind ran over where you could possibly be. The room smelled of chemicals, disinfectant? The thickness of the vapour made your stomach flip uncomfortably. You could feel a thin blanket sitting over you, something was pressing into your wrist.

You tried again, opening your eyes, slower this time in an attempt to not blind yourself. You felt much better than before, but a sense of unease had befallen you – you felt unsafe. The room you were in was almost as white as the lights that had blinded you. Looking around, you discovered it to be some kind of… Infirmary? At least, that was your best guess. The monitors around you were sleek, equipment set neatly around the room in a way that had you taking the blanket into your hands. It was somewhat intimidating. Where _were_ you? What happened? The last thing you remember, you were running from someone. The police? No, you had sorted that out.

The British woman.

Sitting up, you placed a hand you your head. There was a dull ache there, as well as a bandage firmly sitting around your head. The fall must’ve been pretty bad. _Why weren’t you dead_? You shook your head, not wanting to spiral into unhelpful thoughts. You groaned a sigh as you looked at your hands, one wrist had a band attached to it, a gentle light emitting from it. On closer inspection you found that there was a tube connecting it to the heart monitor to your right, the beeping faster than what you considered a normal beat, considering the faster pace you started to feel in your chest. You were anxious and uneasy.

Weren’t you supposed to be better at this?

You looked down, taking the cover off your lower abdomen and legs. It was then that you realised you weren’t wearing your clothes.  It felt like cotton, or a synthetic version of it, the clothing itself was a kind of hospital dress, almost reaching to your knees. You looked around the room again, there didn’t seem to be any doctors or even a nurse around. It left you uneasy. You had more questions than possible answers to any inferences you could possibly make. You thought for a moment. Could you make an escape? Figure out how to get back to the facility? You had to get your mission back on track. _How long had you been out?_

_Why are you the only one here?_

That thought alone left a cold chill run down the length of your spine like sharp ice. You had to get out of here, get back to the mission. You had to – had to get back – back to…

_To Maris._

You swallowed a deep breath, heart monitor beeping rapidly as your heart rate spiked. You looked down to the band around your wrist, your eyebrows furrowing. This all felt wrong, you would know if you were back at the base. Your boys would be by your hospital bed, ready to throw the odd joke about a sleeping beauty. Your gaze fell to your leg, a large, white, wound dressing pad stuck to the side of it. Were these you only injuries? You could work with that. You had to get out.

You climbed from the hospital bed, the hard flooring cold against your bare feet. You looked around the room to see if you could find any of your belongings, not wanting to take the band from your arm just yet in case it raised an alarm. Your gaze swept over the desk in the corner, files set in a neat stack. Everything in the room was so _neat._ You couldn’t see your clothes, or your boots, nor your gun. _Fuck._ You took a chance and carefully took the band from your wrist seeing small metal prongs that had been in your wrist, red pinpricks over your veins which you licked, figuring you’ve wasted enough time.

Your gaze moved to the exit, a doorway wide enough that you could potentially be seen from either side of what looked to be a hall. You carefully padded over, your legs and arms admittedly stiff, presumably from underuse. You’d manage though, you just had to get _out._ If you could find the exit to the building, or a suitable weapon. You could make your escape to get away, find a way away from _wherever_ the hell you had gotten yourself. Best case scenario; this was a new posting and you had been found injured, the only fall being to your pride.

_Not that there’s much of that to begin with._

Worse case, you were in enemy territory. Which meant you either had to escape without anyone finding you, or you’d have to roll up your sleeves and start slitting throats. Your gaze fell to the hall as you peeked your head out. It was long, to your left anyway, on the right, there were a few doors before the hall turned into the unknown. You had to make a choice, and by your own calculations, you had to do so _quickly._

You headed left, pressing yourself to the wall and making your footsteps as light as possible despite the quiet padding that reached your overly sensitive ears. The buzzing of electricity overhead still annoying you. Your gaze was set forward, you had to get back. You needed to get back. Make sure not only that your squad was _safe_ , but that you could take leave to get to your sister. You’d be damned if you missed her birthday.

The artificial lights left a lot to be desired in terms of the new interferences you found with your sense, but you pushed on. You followed the hall as it turned right, even upstairs. You refused to use any of the elevators, counting that as a possible act of suicide in this circumstance. You found the complex to be multi levelled, and any noises sent you in the opposite direction. If you could find a ventilation duct, you’d be able to crawl through the building with less of a chance of detection, that was the hope anyway.

_Don’t mess up. You don’t want to get caught._

Your hands were left gripping into the fabric of the dress you wore, palms sweating as your paranoia grew. Heart rate determined by how secure you felt at any given moment, and right now you didn’t feel safe. Anything but really, you could hear your breath despite trying to quiet it, sounding like gusts of wind in your ears. You stalked down yet another hall, always lit by the electrical lights above you.

You didn’t want to leave your jacket behind, you realised as you went. It held sentimental value and was something you didn’t want to leave behind if you could help it. It left you panicking as you realised that the information inside could potentially be used against you. If you could find it on the way out, perhaps being somewhat more risk taking in your behaviour would be worth it. Pushing through a double set of doors, your eyes widened.

You were met with a large hall, long metal tables set in rows allowing enough space to move around while also being able to have a meal. It looked like a mess hall, at least to you it did. Your investigation of the room didn’t last long. You heard two sets of bootsteps. One heavier than the other, both headed in _your direction._ Your gaze whipped around as you looked for a cover. Somewhere you wouldn’t be seen. But _where_ would you hide?  You looked around and spotted another set of double doors, sitting ajar. It looked to be your only salvation currently. You pushed forward on aching legs, sprinting to the door, opening it and pulling it behind you as the figures entered the hall. You left it ajar, closing it would bring too much attention to you.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, every breath sounding much too loud as you looked at the pair who had entered your vision. The first was a young woman, her blonde hair tied back, a white coat hanging off her shoulders with a manila folder under her arm. Her boots were tied up, zippers down the side suggesting she didn’t retie them often. The person next to her was a taller man, he wore what looked to be a battered and worn motorcycle jacket with the number ‘76’ written across the back in large, red letters, almost like a target. He had dark military pants on, the many pockets could hold almost anything. His boots were done up tightly, the ends of his pants seemed to be tucked into the tops of them. The appearance of the pair perplexed you. Was this not a military base? Was this perhaps a hospital instead?

You didn’t know, all you knew was that when they entered the room a high sense of danger had befallen you, the urgency had grown tenfold. You tried to listen into their conversation, but your ears couldn’t seem to get past the sound of your heartbeat, nor your breathing. What were you really waiting around for? Information on a _jacket?_

God you were _pathetic._

You couldn’t stay there. You had to get out, you knew there were people there, at least. The fact didn’t calm you in the slightest and lead you to ‘ _screw the jacket’_ despite your desperate desire to have its contents, originally for better or worse.

You turned on your heels, only becoming _keenly aware_ of how close you were standing to the door, and how momentously that move had _screwed_ you over. You foot had banged against the door, _loudly._ If they didn’t know you were there before, they sure as hell would know you were there now.

 _Feel good about yourself now, you fucking retard?_ You shook your head, pushing forward as your heart rate picked up, hands clenching into fists. Feet _slamming_ against the floor. You didn’t care about the amount of noise you made. _Left – in – right, left – out._ You ran as fast as your clumsy legs would carry you, nearing the end of the hall, you heard the doors open. Your gaze flicked behind you as your feet slid against the floor, body hammering against the wall. Your ribs started to hurt, the soldier in the motorcycle jacket started running at you.

 _He didn’t have a_ _face._

You pushed off the wall and _sprinted_ down the hall, putting all your energy in attempting to get away. That man didn’t have a face. He had a metal – _whatever_ – that was, the red glow flashing against your eyelids when you blinked. You heard a deep, rough voice demand you stop with the authority of your commanding officer, ice ran along your nerves. You were so _fucked._

Adrenaline hit your system like a truck, you heard his bootsteps heavy and loud behind you, but you wouldn’t stop. You’d rather die than be caught. If you could just get him off your tail, you’d be fine. You could get out of this damned facility. You _had_ to.

How wrong could you be?

It was at the next corner that he caught you. A heavy weight forcing your feet from under you, the soldier tackling you to the ground. Your chin hitting the floor after your hands, doing very little to break your fall. A pair of strong arms took hold of you as you kicked and screamed, attempted to get out of the hold he had you under. Your breathing was becoming erratic as you tried to get out of the situation you had so _stupidly_ put yourself into. If only you hadn’t have kicked that door. You felt your chest grow tight, heart slamming against your ribs, wanting so badly to be as free as the rest of you did. You had to get out. You couldn’t be here, you didn’t want to be here. You could get _killed._ You had to get _home._

“ _Dammit!_ Stop struggling!” The man growled, you mind taking note that he was American, not that it was an appropriate time to do so, as he wrapped a hand around your wrists. He pinned you to the floor, his legs keeping yours on the ground as you continued to squirm and struggle. Your hoarse voice yelling, screaming, _begging_ him to let go, another voice joining the commotion.

“Soldier: 76. That is my _patient._ Refrain from tearing her stitches!” A woman said in a Swiss or maybe German accent. Her voice stern.

“You want _this_ running around the place like a feral animal?” He – the one you assumed was ‘76’ – questioned as he pushed your arms, preventing you from bending them towards the ground to attempt any escape. When you squirmed, he placed a heavy, but constant pressure on your back and arms. It _hurt_ like a _bitch._ You heard an exasperated sigh before you saw the woman in the white coat from earlier crouch in front of you. Her brows furrowed, an angelic grace to her.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake. However, I ask that you not be so foolish.” She looked over you. You grit your teeth, jaw setting, your leg hurt. You didn’t know these people and you sure as hell weren’t taking orders from them. “If we let you stand, will you cause more trouble for yourself?” she inquired.

You felt the hand around your wrists tighten a fraction, your shoulders tensing, you _hated_ this. The defeat. The fact that you were quickly coming to realise you had no way out. You nodded shortly, your mind already strategizing your next move.

Unexpectedly quickly, the weighted pressure on you was lifted. The feeling of being pulled up from the ground by your arm with the power as if you were just that _easy_ to lift. You took your arms from the American’s grasp. You turned your burning gaze to the doctor, she was your medic in this situation, a small smile on her face when you remained still and didn’t attempt to attack either of them.

“Follow me.” She said, turning on her heels, headed down the hall. You complied, only to find a larger pain in your leg than you had expected than when you ate the floor.

A small huff alerted the American, you were sure it did. You had yet to look at him after your first glimpse. You found no interest in acknowledging him, the feeling of anger settling in your chest. You made your own way down the hall, forcing the act of walking to remain as natural as you could make it. Suffice to say, you hadn’t thought you were at all convincing.

 

Sitting back in the medical bay on the bed once again, Doctor Ziegler, as you had come to learn her title, was redressing your wounded leg. She _tsk_ ed when she saw that the wound had reopened, which explained the pain you had walking your sorry arse back here. You watched her work, taking off the dressing, and reapplying a new one, the old one having been bled through over the course of your ‘galivanting.’

“I advise against putting this much pressure on your wounds again.” She sighed as she checked your head, shining a light into your eyes. The brightness blinding you as you blink rapidly as both eyes were checked. You nodded, having more pressing matters to consider.

How were you supposed to leave, now that they knew you were conscious?

The doctor turned her gaze down to you, checking that your heart monitoring band was properly attached to your wrist, prongs back in your skin to keep an eye on your heart. You weren’t sure whether you should be plotting your escape just yet, not until you could find out more. You looked towards the door, there were other personnel out there, there had to be. You weren’t very keen on finding out who, or, dare you say, _what_ was out there.

“There’s no need to be nervous.” You heard the Swiss woman said from beside you, opening a file. You looked towards the monitor, your heart beating within acceptable parameters. “You keep looking to the exit.” She clarifies.

You nod, accepting that you probably were looking at the only escape route every change you got. You looked down over your injuries. You hurt your leg, bruised you ribs, gained a concussion and above all that, you hadn’t broken your bones. That, at least, the doctor sounded interested about. As though anything similar hadn’t happened before.

“I have a few questions for you.” The doctor said, bringing a chair over to sit by the bed, a pan in her hand and file in her lap. She held a type of tablet in her hands, you could see _through_ it.

Your eyebrows furrowed as another presence entered the room. Looking over, you saw it to be a very energetic, familiar face. Her face brightening when she saw you awake on the hospital bed.

“Hello, love!” Her voice cheerful. “Glad to see you’re finally awake!”

You looked over the young woman, regarding her carefully. Memories of her somewhat foggy; concern on her face, in her voice. She must’ve brought you here. You nodded in her direction, your gaze turning back to the doctor. Your shoulders releasing only some of the tension with a familiar face in the room. The doctor seemed ready to question you.

“Tracer, would you stay while I ask our patient a few questions?” She asked the Brit, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Sure thing!” she sat on the bed across from you, a foot on the metal bar of the side, the other hanging down, smiling at you reassuringly. Your gaze flicked between them, bringing forward answers to generic questions the doctor could ask you.

“What’s your name?”

“Watson.” You stated, both habit and bluntness bringing your answer forward too fast. Your thoughts flicking momentarily to the banter that name had caused between your squad. Looking at the pair in front of you now though, it was clear that they were hiding something. You heard the Doctor writing a few different things down. If that’s all she got from your name, you wondered just what any other information would give her.

“Watson,” She said, as if she was testing your name before she continued. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” You watched as she used her pen to tap through a few different things into her device.

“You’re older than me.” ‘Tracer’ commented. You only nodded, not bothering to ask her age.

“What is the last thing you remember, before waking up?”

“I was… In London.” You looked down at your hands. “On a fire escape.”

“That’s where Tracer found you. Do you remember what you were doing in London?” She asks, her tone a tad gentler now.

“I…” What _were_ you doing in London? “No. I don’t remember.”

“Hm.” The doctor tucked some of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, pressing her lips together in thought. “Is there anything you remember before London?”

“That’s classified.” Your muscled tensed. You couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ tell them a word about what you had been up to. You watched as the pair in front of you grew confused.

“Under whose authority?” Her voice was curious, hints of irritation seeping through.

“I didn’t ask questions, Doctor.” You stated, levelling her gaze with yours. Resolve thick in your voice. It wasn’t your job to ask questions, not when you worked so hard for the first four years _trying_ to question the authority of your superiors on matters you had no business in.

“Watson,” she started, voice growing tired. “You’re certainly a soldier.”

“I’m more than a soldier.” Your posture changed, a _soldier?_ You weren’t just a soldier.

“How do you mean?” Tracer’s inquisitive voice jumped in. Your gaze turned to her.

“I’m a Lance Corporal.” You stated, voice holding hints of authority.  “And I’m of no use to you.”

“Watson…” The doctors voice sounded gentle, her expression a mixture of different things. “We don’t wish to harm you, but you have turned my curiosity. Which army is it you belong to?”

“The Australian military.” You were confused now, wasn’t that obvious? If they had your jacket, it would’ve held the Rising Sun patch on it. “Why?”

Tracer and Doctor Zeigler shared a look that you didn’t find yourself being able to read. It confused you. _Why_ was there a need for them to share in silent conversation? _Why_ were you here instead of at the camp in Russia? You had so many questions.

“Love,” Tracer started, her voice almost _dripping_ with sympathy, “do you know what year it is?”

 “That depends… How long was I out?” _Why was that important?_

“Eleven days.” The doctor informed you.

“It should still be June… 2016.” You said, eyebrows furrowing and a weariness growing over you when both sets of eyes stared at you in surprise, one again glancing between them. “What?”

“That is incorrect.” Ziegler said, writing on her tablet before placing it in the folder in her lap. “The year is 2076.”

“No.” You started, heart beating faster. Beeping of the heart monitor beside you increasing its tempo. “No – it’s not. It can’t be. That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid that’s the truth.” The doctor reached forward, and you flinched, moving backwards, the beeping behind you bringing a stress you didn’t want. Heart slamming against your ribcage, palms growing clamming.

“Please, calm down. We’re not going to hurt you. Love, we’re here to help you.”

Why was it so hard? It couldn’t be sixty years into your future. It just couldn’t be. That would mean… _You missed it. You missed her birthday. It was your fault. You failed her._

_Again._

Everything was falling apart. Dry sand running through your fingers too fast to catch. Your sight becoming hazy. You couldn’t have missed it. It couldn’t be so far gone. _You_ couldn’t be so far gone. _Why_ did they look at you like that? _Why_ did they treat you so differently after you told them where you had come from. _Why?_

You felt a light weight out on your shoulders, you saw shapes of colour move. But you _couldn’t_ move. Your body felt too heavy. Everything like lead. The beeping in your ears much too loud. You thought you heard voices, trying to soothe you. It couldn’t be.

It just _couldn’t be._

-

It felt like an eternity. Your gaze had come back, but you couldn’t find the will to move. A cup of something had been placed into your hands, but you hadn’t looked at it. You didn’t want to believe them. Didn’t want to believe anything they told you. It had to be lies. All of it. Didn’t it? The blanket on your shoulders was readjusted as Doctor Ziegler pulled it up, trying to comfort you and keep you calm now that the beating of the heart monitor had returned to ‘normal.’ Questions ran through your mind like bullets, one staying long enough for you to fully register it.

_What happened to Maris?_

It had hit you, harder than you thought. If you couldn’t remember the time you had with her, were you worthy of even calling yourself her sister? _Some sister you are, you can’t even remember her._ You tried to picture what she would look like now. Would she still point her wide smile at you like she did all those years ago? You blinked, vision becoming blurry for an entirely different reason to before. All you had left was your jacket. If they had it. You wanted the picture of your sister, the letter she left you, and the ancient MP3 she had left for you when you first had to leave the country. They were important to you, the only possessions you remember having ownership of. Where were they now? Had you lost them? You hoped not.

Your fingers tightened around the cup you held, tightness growing in your throat. Were you that _unbelievably stupid_ that you could just _loose_ the most precious items you owned? _Were you just that unorganised? That useless? What kind of person just looses them?_ You found yourself blinking again, wanting to just shut your thoughts behind a door and not listen to them. You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t be useless. Yet, that’s what you had been for, what? The last half a century or so apparently. The thought astounded the hard and fast soldier side of you that didn’t accept your own weakness as an excuse. That façade that you had so meticulously concocted was coming apart in a foreign infirmary, in some other country, in some other _year._

_You’re such a charity case, no wonder you don’t remember your life, you didn’t do anything important you didn’t achieve-_

“Watson.” A pointedly annoyed, yet gruff American voice said, you’re gaze following to the location of the voice sounding as though they had called your name quite a few times already.

The American, 76 as Doctor Zeigler had called him. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded, the red glow of what you guess was his ‘eyes’ staring straight at you. In a way, the stance reminded you of a comic book hero, all contrasting colours and honour in serving a greater purpose. It was quite a sight despite the panic you felt seep into your chest. The good doctor at your side, prying your hand from the cup you held to take the band from your wrist and turn off the machine. The sight of him not only had your heart picking up it’s pace due to the panic, but the anger that boiled your blood. He was the one responsible for you being in this _stupid_ room.

“Someone wants to see you.” He stated, unfolding his arms, gloved hands siting at his sides as he waited for you.

You nodded, the body count adding to four now as you climbed from the bed and tested your leg. It stung, but you’d manage. You briefly wondered just how many people were on the base, and how much worse your situation could’ve been.

You followed him down the halls, hands grasping at the fabric of your hospital clothes. His bootsteps covering the sound of your bare footsteps, your eyes darting over every wall, door, and possible gap. Trying to make a map in your head. He walked in front of you, red numbers feeling like a warning now rather than the target of earlier. It made you feel trapped in the situation, knowing that he could chase you down, and catch you if you tried to escape again. But you wouldn’t, not until you _knew_ you could get away.

Without the Doctor here, you were convinced that he would snap you arm like a twig if you caused any trouble for him. You stepped into an elevator, the feeling of unease washing over you, hair on the back of your neck standing. You felt unsafe, the feeling only turning into a heavy tension, borderline panic as the doors shut. You had to calm down, the trembling in your hands had to _stop._  You had to _stop._ You could get through this, you would get past this. You had to stop making mountains out of anthills.

You tensed when he changed his stance, the elevator door opening. You counted your steps as you walked down a hall, around a corner and down a short staircase into a sort of lab that looked more like an office. You were up to 107 steps when you looked at the equipment. So much different from what you were used to. It looked so _advanced,_ too much further than the movies you saw when you were younger. The ones you _remember_ watching.

The panic of processing that maybe it _was_ 2076 after all, was thrown as you saw a _gorilla_ climb down to the desk. Your eyes widened as your hands clutched tightly to the fabric of your dress. Your ‘Warden’ not even batting an eye at the _fucking situation_ as if it were a common sight. He was dressed in armour, a pair of glasses on his nose.

He peered down at you, the instincts asking you to step back and try to get out of the situation. A large hand pushing you forward stopped that thought. Your body went as stiff as a board when the large animal in front of you started _speaking._

“Hello. Watson, was it?” You nodded dumbly, not questioning the fact that he knew. A _gorilla_ was _talking_ to you. “Doctor Zeigler mentioned that you remember the year as… 2016.”

You nodded again, starting to just accept that he was talking. Convincing yourself that this had to be a joke, they just had a gorilla trained to _look_ like he was talking. Right?

“Do you remember what you were doing in London before you were found?”

You shook your head, you don’t remember your purpose for being in London, let alone England. All you get is a thoughtful nod as he looks down at his desk, some sort of interface inbuilt. He uses his large hand to bring the information up, the screen purely holographic.

“She mentioned that you couldn’t tell her anything about _before_ London. Is that correct?”

“Classified.” You nodded, body rigid and tone flat.

He looked past you at the American behind you, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked back down at you. “You’re _Australian?_ ”

You nodded, it wasn’t a secret. You couldn’t get the feeling that perhaps there was something wrong with that. Everyone you had so much as spoken to so far seemed to look at you with pitying sympathy in their eyes. But _why_? Had something happened? Why did everyone seem so _surprised_?

“Is there anything you can tell me about your jump in memory?” He looks over his screen, reading much better that you could even attempt to. “Omitting anything strictly classified of course.”

You felt as though the addition was only meant for their benefit, but you supposed you could tell them the facts of what happened, and not what you were _doing._ “I slipped.”

“You… slipped?” He repeated, as if he couldn’t quite understand.

“I slipped.” You repeated, fingers gathering more of the material already in your hands.

“That is…” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I will have Doctor Zeigler look over your condition. If only for a few more days… Perhaps you will remember something in that time.”

You watched as he sat back in his chair, pushing his glasses up again. It was now or never. “Where are my belongings?”

The pair looked at you, your hands trembled, a death grip on the fabric in your hands. His voice was somewhat confused. “Your belongings?”

“I was – In London. All the items I had on my person.” You stated, trying to keep your voice calm and even. Your voice sounded small. “My jacket and its’ contents, specifically.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned on his face. His tone changing to sound helpful. “Your clothing was mended and cleaned.”

Your heartrate picked up. “Did – Did you check the pockets?”

“Not personally. But Mercy – Doctor Zeigler – should have them. If you wish to go find her with –”

You didn’t hear the end of his sentence, already sprinting down the short hall, up the stairs and around the corner. Heart slamming against your chest with the strain and effort you put onto your legs. You heard Heavy bootsteps follow down the hall as you pressed and proceeded to spam the button on the elevator. You breath coming out in heavy puffs as you found a new direction, a new objective in the overall mission you acquired by your own means.

You felt his eyes on you, stopping beside you, an overall sense of agitation washing over you from his direction. You kept pushing the button.

“Don’t run off. You’ll tear your damn stitches.” He states when the elevator arrives. You step inside and stare over the buttons on the wall. There weren’t many but you really should’ve looked at which floor you had come from. You bit your lip.

76 sighed and pushed the button for you, the number ‘3’ lighting up as the elevator started to move. You stood up straight and wiped your sweaty palms on your dress, trying to distract yourself from the imposing presence of the soldier beside you. As the doors opened, he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you from running off again. You speculated for a moment what rank he might have in the military operation that you found yourself in the care of.

He led the way down the wall, his hand falling to his side when you didn’t run off in front of him. You were impatient and ready to get back to Mercy to get everything you had. A string of hope had been tossed you way it seemed. Neither of you said a word to each other as you walked in the direction of your objective.

You sped up your pace when you were in a hall you recognised, that being, you could see the entry to the infirmary where you had last seen Mercy. Your footsteps light and feeling hopeful, you stepped into the infirmary to find the resident doctor seated at her desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You walked up to her desk and placed your hands on the sleek surface.

“Doctor Zeigler.” you said. “The – Uh – Gorilla said I could find you to collect my personal effects?”

You watched as her gaze snapped up and took a second or two, to process what you were talking about. “Gorilla… Oh, Winston! He was always never very good at introducing himself. Yes, give me a moment.”

She stood from her desk and exited the infirmary. You wanted to follow her, but decided that staying here was for the best, she’d be back with your belongings in tow. You wiped your hands on your dress again, wondering why they weren’t drying. It was only seconds later that Mercy walked back in, a bag with what you presumed were your belongings. You held back the want to dart forward and claim them, there was a smile on her face, her expression kind as she handed the bag to you.

“There you are. This should be everything.”

You looked inside the bag, and sure enough your clothes were inside the it. You turned and strolled over to the bed you had woken up in. Dumping the contents onto the beds’ surface, you found that, boots and all, your clothes were there. You started going through them, jacket first, carefully searching each of the pockets as you kept your focus on at least finding the remains of your sister. Each pocket providing you with less, and less hope. Even the pockets of your standard issue pants didn’t herald any progress. They were gone. Just… _gone._

_You’ll never see her again._

Your throat tightened. You’d never see her bright, goofy smile. Hear her cheerful laugh, or the way her messy hair sat when she woke up in the morning. You’d _never_ get to see her face again or read her loopy handwriting.

You don’t know when the floor appeared beneath you, or when your vision blurred as you tried to breathe. The thought that you’d never get to see her again, never get to keep anything that she gave you. You felt so incredibly _stupid._ How could you lose them? How could you lose the only connection you had to her?

What if they _were_ the only connection you had left?

You took a gasping breath, it hurt. You couldn’t do it. You just _couldn’t._ You felt hot tears slide down your cheeks. Face flushed. There was a metallic taste in your mouth. A _pathetic_ whimper tearing itself from your throat as you sat there. It hurt. An ache starting in your chest and spreading out, through your very _bones._

_This is all your fault. If you had’ve been more careful, this wouldn’t have happened!_

Anger bubbled in your chest, mixing with the hurt, and the pain. How _could_ you? How could you let this happen?

“Watson.” You heard a gruff, sandpapery voice. “Look at me.”

Someone had taken your hand, the leather of a glove feeling familiar. Another hand was on your shoulder. You took a breath, the sharp inhale letting cold air filter through your lungs. You had to get past this. Oh god how you just wanted to curl up and not be here anymore. But you had to, the mission lived and failed with you. If your sister was still alive... Maybe you could go see her?

You heard the voice again. Asking you to open your eyes. To _breathe._ You opened your eyes, looking towards the owner of the voice. The soldier – 76 – was crouched in front of you. The lines across his forehead suggesting that he had his eyebrows furrowed. If he did had eyebrows, his metal face covered any possibility of seeing them. He brought his hands from you, taking your chin and removing your left hand from your mouth.

“That’s not going to help your breathing. You need to calm down.” His voice was calm, and level. There wasn’t any concern, just a matter-of-factness that left you following his instructions. Taking a breath and slowing down. Watching as his chest rose and fell. Trying to match his pace.

 

When you were calm enough to register your surroundings again, the buzzing electricity became prominent once again. Mercy was standing a few paces away, her doctorly concern radiating off her in waves. 76 stood, looking over the surface of the hospital bed and fiddling for a few moments. You heard the crumple of paper. It sounded through your ears like an explosion. Catching your complete attention.

He turned and held out a piece of paper, and an _ancient MP3 player._

You glanced up at his metal face, red light faced down at you as you reached out for the items from his hands with the utmost care, as if they would disappear should you reach too fast. Taking them into your hands, you unfurled the paper. A polaroid siting inside. It was worn with time, creases starting to create lines through it from years of unfolding and refolding it. You took a shuddering breath. It was your sister. Your little star.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

All you could do was nod as you read the note left with the photograph.

_‘Dir [Y/N]_

_I’m righting thes leter so you have someing tangebel, someing too hold ontoo if you ever need it. I’m proud to call you my big sister. You are so brav and super strong! I dont know nee one who is brav enuagh too go and sabe our the world from bad guys! I wanna tell you that I love you, and that I’m gonna miss you ever sengle day! Jus come back home safe. Okay?_

_Don’t forget me! I love you Sis!_

_< 3 Maris, your Star (of the See!)’_

You swallowed. A lump in your throat. Eyes turning back to the photograph. She had the brightest, most brilliant grin on her face. It stretched from ear you ear, a few of her teeth having come out before it was taken. Her hair sat around her shoulders and framed her little face. A bright blue sticker on the side of her second-hand shirt, it brought out her bright blue-grey eyes. You missed her.

Your attention was so tunnel visioned that you hadn’t even noticed Mercy cleaning and wrapping a band-aid over your palm and back of your hand until you saw the white on your hand. You had been to busy looking at your heart-warmingly, endearing little sister. The world truly would be blind if they saw it the same way she did.

You rested the letter, and polaroid in your lap with the MP3 player, bringing both hands up to wipe at your eyes and cheeks, drying your hands on your hospital dress. A small, ghosting relief settling on your shoulders.

The pain of losing so much already was overwhelming, but you could get through it. As long as you had even the image of your little Sea-Star, you could endure it. You’d be okay as long as you kept these few possessions. You’d just have to grin and bear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading!  
> \- T.R. <3
> 
> edited 9.03.2018


	3. Away From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?”  
> “Is it really that good?”  
> “What’d y’mean?”  
> “People don’t usually make sounds like that when they eat.”

Since you had woke, you knew you had been at the facility for around forty-eight hours. You were dressed in your own clothing now, and it felt like water in the middle of the Sahara. Your jacket kept you warm, the Rising Sun patch sitting against your shoulder in what you considered a symbol of honour in these halls. Your dark wash pants were tucked into the tops of your tightly laced boots. It kept you warm despite the regulated temperatures of the facility. Doctor Zeigler – who you found preferred Mercy by her patients – had cleared you with limited access around the facility. No access to weapons or anything potentially dangerous, but you were allowed in ‘public’ areas. She had conditioned this limited freedom with the condition that you had to wear the band around your left wrist. It felt light, like a bracelet, with the thickness of a wristwatch. Light blue lights emitted from it, recording your location and vitals constantly. She would know if you tried to escape, or if you were being put under too much stress.

As fair as you were concerned, the restrictions you had on your exploration was like that of a glorified prison inmate. Without the orange.

You didn’t exactly have any right to complain. They had helped you thus far, patching up your injuries and Mercy had tried to help you remember your presumed sixty-year memory gap. The only irritating factor of your predicament was that the always cheerful Tracer had decided to join you from the moment you were first _allowed_ to leave the infirmary of your own accord. She was kind, and of course she was morally right in wanting to make sure you got around alright. But all you really wanted was a moment to yourself, to be left alone to make your own way around. Have a space to think out of the much to bright infirmary.

Yet, she insisted that you let her give you a tour, which you were starting to regret if only for the fact that there really wasn’t any way you could get around _without_ her. She had mentioned that the personnel of the facility were spread thin due to a recent spike in postings. Which was to say that there weren’t enough agents to cover the amount of operative work they were receiving.

You followed Tracer around a corner, through a wide hall you hadn’t been in before. There was an open doorway, meaning that it was another public area that you were able to access. As you approached, you looked through the windows, blurring whoever was inside, only shapes and colours really registering. You were lead to the doorway to investigate the room. It was a large, in-house training centre, weights, treadmills, punching bags, pull up bars, and everything right down to a sparing mat in the centre of the room. To the side, where the weights were located, was a tall woman with cropped short, electric pink hair and a large black tattoo on her left shoulder. She was easily lifting around 100 kilograms. When she finished what you assumed was her set, she looked over to the doorway and set the weight down. She picked up a water bottle as she walked over. There was a cartoon bear on it. She was much taller than you originally expected, easily over six feet in height.

“Is good to see you!” She called Russian accent thick. Her gaze on Tracer, presence commanding like that of Soldier: 76.

“It’s good to see you, too! How was the mission? I really wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” The conversation felt too much like small talk, their tone light-hearted.

“Ha, you underestimate me.” She grinned at Tracer, ruffling the you British girls hair. He gaze turning to you. “Who is companion?”

Both sets of eyes fell upon you, Tracer smiled.

“This is Watson. She’s a tad muddled but Doctor Zeigler wants her to stay around for a while. See if we can’t help the situation, you know?”

“Are you in need of personal training?” The Russian woman said, regarding you with s contemplative expression. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to agree of disagree with her, so you shook your head.

“I don’t think she’s on physical therapy just yet.” Tracer commented.

“Hmph. There is always time for physical training.” She said, grasping one of your arms, inspecting the muscle there. “Is this it?”

You nodded, eyes widened, and an eyebrow raised. “Yes, ma’am?”

When you spoke, she looked at you. Eyebrows drawing together. “You come from Australia, no?”

“That’s right.” You nodded again, looking up at her. She hums thoughtfully.

“Strong soldiers came from there.” Your eyebrows furrowed at her, you didn’t fully understand.

“I’m not sure what you mean. We have many good soldiers.” You gesture to the badge on your arm. “I happen to be an alright one myself.”

She lets go of your arm and places one hand on her hip, the other hand on your shoulder, an approving smile on her face.

“You will like it here. Many good friends.” She states, her gaze moving to Tracer. “Keep this one. Strong heart.”

“That’s the plan!” Tracer grins.

“Should you require training, visit me.” She was looking back at you. “Aleksandra Zaryanova.”

You nodded as she let go of you, walking back towards the weights, taking a long swig from her bottle. Tracer smiled and shared goodbyes with Zaryanova before she lead you down the hall. Walking you up two flights of stairs.

“This is level three, and - -”

“Agent: Tracer.” An automated voice spoke, your gaze scanning the area to see if there was a robot – _Omnic_ – lurking about.

“Yes, Athena?” Tracer asked, two fingers against her watch.

“Winston requests you meet with him in Lab O-1 as soon as possible.” Her voice emitting with a matching wavelength through the holographic screen floating above Tracers’ watch.

“Understood. Thanks, love.” She taps a button and the screen disappears.

“You gotta go?” Your gaze locked on her as she smiles at you.

“Yeah…” She shrugs noncommittally. “Come by the cafeteria tonight. It’d be good for you to meet a few more agents around here.”

You bite your lip, hesitant about meeting others who would potentially feel the need to question your position here. Not that you had one. You sighed.

“Alright… I’ll see you then.”

“Fantastic!” She was beaming at you before she ran off towards the lab.

Now alone, you weren’t exactly sure what you wanted to do, or where to look. Although, you hadn’t been on this floor before. You turned and started walking, your eyebrows furrowing. Athena had you curious, wondering exactly what kind of Artificial Intelligence she was. Was she adaptive? And, more importantly, did you have access to her interface?

A large, clear square of _not_ wall stopped you. The large window showing the outside to the facility. You could see a large forested area a klick away from the building, the grass kept short. It was beautiful, the fact that there was so much _green_ out there. You wondered if the air smelled as fresh as you remembered it.

You set a hand on the grass, letting your mind wander, refusing to let it sink to darker memories.  Darker thoughts. You wondered why you hadn’t been asked a million and one questions when you arrived. Although, you supposed Mercy didn’t want to overwhelm you, having both just woken up, and having been chased down by Soldier: 76. Even now, the thought it ran a shiver down your spine.

You decided to lean against the wall beside the window, not wanting to walk around anymore for a while. The building was a maze you weren’t sure you could remember your way around just yet. Not to mention the number of doors you couldn’t get passed due to the band snugly seated around your left wrist. It’d be a bitch if you needed to write down anything.

There were so many things that were different. From the taste of food, all the way to the way doors worked. You folded your arms. Everyone around you took it all as normal, as though it had been like this for years; it was jarring. You felt out of place, like you didn’t belong, and not just in this facility itself. You knew, logically, being in the army mean adapting to your situation and you were _trying_. Could you really do this? Adapt to a time you didn’t even remember?

You watched as the sun sank further behind the trees, the sky changing colour, flares of orange seeping into the sky. In a way, it kind of looked like home. The forest behind your house where the colours peeked out through each of the trees, stretching over the veranda where you and Maris would sit. She’s pick out the colours of the sky, and you’d listen to her – one time she tried to slip the colour lavender passed you. Of course, it hadn’t worked, the colour much to pale a purple to ever match the sky, but she had laughed. The way she had _laughed_. All giddy and full of life – you missed it, wishing you could go back and hear it one last time.

You could almost hear it now, looking out the window as the coloured changed, stretching further over the sky. The way she’d tell you that it’s not _actually_ red that you’re looking at, it was _apple red_. As though there was a difference.

You saw the clouds across the sky reflect in varying pinks and oranges. It was beautiful. The best sunset you had ever laid eyes on and, in this world of machines and technology you didn’t understand, it was _home._ What was it Mari had told you? Oh, that’s right.

_Looking at the sky means we’re always together! No matter what._

Voices down the hall left your attention severely ripped from the outside. You leant back against the wall, attempting to gather any pieces of the conversation.

“She doesn’t belong here - -“

“ - - Travelled through time.”

“- - Watson really a name?”

As unintentional developments went in your time in this facility went, this was by _far_ the most unexpected. So much so that you twisted your body to be closer in an attempt to hear more of the conversation that was obviously about you. _Time travel? What was this? The BBC?_ How could a person time travel? The technology for that hadn’t been developed passed teleporting a single atom the length of a short room. Time travel just wasn’t logical. And if it was possible, how were you still _alive?_ In every theory, you would still need a containment unit for a person to no, well, explode. Not only was it physically impossible, but you weren’t Captain America, frozen for the better part of the century.

“Are you going to tell her?” a familiar American voice asked, the rough undertones held perhaps the _slightest_ edge of concern, probably for the security of their operation.

“What do you think would happen if I told her, hm?” Doctor Ziegler quipped. “We don’t know the extent of her condition, or if she can go back to her own time. I do not think it would be wise to tell her, given the stability of her mental state.”

You heard the American hum in agreement.

“Not to mention the fact that we don’t know if she can go home, or the scar tissue on her body. Specifically, her hand, it’s unbelievable.” Her voice held both concern and incredulity.

“You’re saying it’s a type of self-harm, then?”

“I am not saying that, yet, I cannot deny the possibility.”

You shook your head, walking from the window in the opposite direction from their voices. The topic of conversation was a lot to take in. travelling through time, with no way to get home? That was ridiculous to begin with. As for biting your hand, you didn’t think they had the right to investigate why you did that. It was none of their business, not now, and certainly not in the future.

-

Seeing the mess hall with people inhabiting it held a vastly different atmosphere to how it was before when there wasn’t anyone to be seen. There were small conversations appearing everywhere. It appeared that everyone knew each other and would jump into conversations across tables if they felt they had something they wanted to express. It was loud.

The smell of food had your mouth watering, although the synthetic taste of whatever Mercy had been feeding you had you unsure of what they’d be serving here. And if you _had_ time travelled, as you found out earlier, you were somewhat worried that you’d have to suffer through more synthetically made foods even if you understood why.

In the blink of an eye, Tracer went from standing at a table on the far side of the hall, to standing directly in front of you, a happy grin on her face.

“Hello, love! It’s good to see you.” Her cheerful tone greeted you.

“Yeah, you too.” You said, adjusting your hands in your pockets.

“I’ve got some friends I want you to meet!” She took your arm and dragged you along with her towards the table she had been sitting at before.

You saw unfamiliar faces cease their conversation as you approached. There was a young Korean girl, magenta stripes on the sides of her face, brown hair laying past her shoulders, a friendly smile on her face. She wore a loose t-shirt, a rabbit on the front. An equally young Brazilian man sat next to her, a pair of black and neon green headphones around his neck, dreadlocks in his hair. He had a black hooded jumper over a green shirt. Down the table, two men sat across from each other, they looked vastly different to the others at the table. The first had brown hair, an orange serape around his shoulders, a broad brimmed hat sitting on the table near him. He looked like a cowboy, probably from the south of America if you had to take a guess. The second man was Asian, you had a guess at saying Japanese if his glorified bathrobe and tattoo were anything to go by.

“I told you we had a guest.” Tracer announced as you sat at the table. “I’ll let you all get aquainted while I go get her something for tea.”

 _What are you gonna do? Stay stiff as a board and hope they don’t notice you? They’re already staring._ Your thoughts informed you. Your shoulders were set, but no one ever appreciated a slouch. It would look depressing.

 “I’m D.Va.” The Korean girl said, her tone held something that told you she was _probably_ important.

You stared at her blankly. She looked confused.

“Never heard of me?” She asked after a moment.

“Can’t say I have.” You shook your head, all eyes at the table were on you again.

“Oh – I guess I’ve got to expect that if you’re Australian.” She stated as though it were a fact. Your eyebrows furrowed, what did being Australian have to do with anything? You were a little offended.

“I’m Lúcio, it’s good to meet you.” The young man beside her said, diverting your attention. “What’s your name?”

“Watson.” You cracked your knuckles under the table, bouncing your knee.

“That yer last name, darlin’?” So, the cowboy was from the south. You shrugged, not caring which way they thought your name went. “Hm. They call me McCree.”

You nodded at him, your gaze turning from the cowboy with the southern drawl, to the Japanese man. He was looking at you with suspicion, and something else. You squinted, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to figure out what it was.

“This here is Hanzo.” McCree jumped in, supplying the introduction that it didn’t seem the man was willing to give himself.

“Here you are.” Tracer said, placing a plate of something and a glass of water in front of you before you could turn your interaction into a tense staring contest.

“Ta.” You looked down in to what she had placed on the table, not disregarding your manners.

It was a little strange, all the people you had spoken to held either sympathy, or an acceptance to your ignorance dude to a _magical_ explanation called ‘Australian.’ It had you wondering if it held a significance. If it did, what the hell was it? You picked up the sandwich Tracer had given you, sniffing it. Peanut butter.

You took a bite out of it, an absolute _explosion_ of flavour hitting you. You never thought you’d miss the taste of peanut butter, but here the hell you were, tasting heaven in your hands. It beat the synthetic-whatever Mercy was feeding you, and it certainly beat military rations. You chewed as slowly as you could manage, if you weren’t careful, you’d breathe it in. You looked up when you felt eyes on you, an eyebrow raising at their surprised expressions. You swallowed.

“What?” Did you have something on your face? You took another bite of your heavenly sandwich.

“It is really that good?” Tracer asked, McCee sitting beside her with the _biggest_ grin on his face.

“What’d y’mean?” You covered your hand with your mouth as you spoke, food still in your mouth.

“People don’t usually make sounds like that when they eat.” Oh. _Oh._   You coughed, almost choking as heat crept up your neck and over your face, even to your ears. You felt her pat your back.

“That wasn’t loud… was it?” Your voice lowered.

“If by loud, yer meanin’ the whole hall hearin’ – you’ve nothing to worry about. As for those of us at this table – that’s another story, sweetheart.” McCree’s grin made sense now, it was a shit eating one that made you wish you hadn’t have joined them.

“It’s okay. Probably the first real meal you’ve had in a while.” Lúcio said from across the table, trying to make you feel better despite the amused smiles on most of their faces.

“Cheer up, love.” You heard beside you as you placed your head in your hands, sandwich forgotten on the plate in front of you. “It’s good to see you something other than so bent out of shape all the time.”

You huffed out a breath, of course she thought you were angry. It wasn’t like you had been dragged over half the continent over that past few days or anything. Slowly, the conversation moved to other things, from ‘fanbase’s to tobacco prices rising, it was enough to bore you. Until you were tapped on the shoulder.

“Hey, Watson.” You looked up. “I didn’t mean to offend you earlier. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You watched as she tucked some of her brown hair behind her ear. D.Va seemed genuinely apologetic. You shrugged. “No harm done.”

“Really?” She looked a little surprised before her face broke out into a happy smile. “That’s great! Then… Maybe you’d like to hangout with all of us again sometime?”

“Tracer said you’re going to be here a while.” Lúcio stated. “Is that true?”

“That’s what I’m told.” You felt your knee bounce a little faster. “Until they figure out whatever it is they’re looking for.”

“It’d be great if you’d hang out with us sometime.”

“Yeah! You could see D.Va’s skills on the Genesis X-2.”

You looked at the pair, who seemed excited by the idea of spending time with you. Did they really not get that many new people around? Even tracer seemed hopeful with the idea. Your eyebrows furrowed. What could it really hurt to spend some time with some kids who just wanted to spend a little extra time with the new blood? Well, not that you counted yourself as part of their little operation. But still, it couldn’t really be a disadvantage if you gathered intel on them while you were here, in case you needed it.

“Sure… What could it hurt?” The cheers from the three kids around you had your muscles tensing, hands grasping the material of your pants. They certainly were a loud bunch.

 

Hours later, somewhere well into the night when even the doctor had gone off to bed, you had found your way to the training centre. Taking advantage of the time alone, you decided to blow off some steam even if it wasn’t technically sanctioned yet as part of your approved routine. You walked over to the large punching bag, stripping off your jacket and folding it carefully, doing the same with your shirt, your black sports bra underneath. You sat before the bag to take off your boots, and your socks, opting to roll the ends of your pants up just above your knees, tying the waistband so it sat at a comfortable tightness at your hips. The punching bag was connected to a thick chain, keeping it from the ground.

You took a breath, retying your hair. Sitting it in a bun so it wouldn’t get in the way. You stood in front of you ‘opponent.’ Taking another breath, you adjusted your stance, and threw your first punch. Second. Third. Picking up the pace as your mind ran over all that you had learned. There was a mission in Russia, and it went horribly south. Then you were in London. Everything was different. Everything you know is gone. You _time travelled._ There was a very real chance you wouldn’t see Maris again. You threw another punch, grunting with the effort. Fuck. That.

You’d see her again. You had to.

-

One Soldier 76 made his way down the empty hall, visor over his face. Most of the New overwatch agents left on assignments, others in their rooms. What confused him, was the tell-tale sound of someone going hell for leather in the training hall. Not that it bothered him, rather that it had him curious as to who, besides Winston, or himself, would be awake, and _productive_ at half-past two in the morning.

He stopped at the doorway, his gaze turning to look inside the massive hall. He hadn’t exactly expected to see the young Australian who called themselves Watson, not when you weren’t technically on physical therapy yet. It hadn’t even really been considered by Angela yet, wasn’t she supposed to be responsible for you? He watched as you rolled your hips into the punch you threw against the sand-filled bag. The flush of your skin with a layer of sweat covering your body, just how long had you been at it? It perplexed him as he stood there, watching now as you threw your leg up to kick at what was very near the height of his head. It _almost_ impressed him.

He knew you were military, even before Angela had brought it to his attention. He saw it in your stance, the way your eyes lost all hope when you couldn’t find what was most definitely the belongings of a soldier on a battlefield. Especially on the patches sewn onto the top of your sleeve. He knew what it felt like, when you lost everything, and it was concerning that what you cared about most didn’t seem to be getting your life on track, but getting to whoever was in the damn polaroid you carried with you. He realised that he had underestimated you. How would your altercation have gone, the first time he encountered you, if you had been at your best, instead of having just woken up from a coma.

Soldier: 76 found himself watching you for what was probably the better part of half an hour. Blow after blow, he heard your frustrated groans as you worked your body through the motions. He wondered what you had going on inside your head, what kind of turmoil he’d find there. Would you be focused on training? Or was your mind a thousand miles away with thoughts of a time long dead?

He wondered how you’d fair in the Omnic Crisis, or if they were even invented yet. All he had managed to gather intel on was your nationality, name and _when_ you had come from. Watching you train left him with even more questions. Just how _long_ had you been in the military before you got here? How long would you have been in it until you got _out_? Did you want to get out?

He turned, deciding to leave before he could come up with more questions that he wanted the answers to. His thoughts weren’t very fruitful, but maybe there was a record of you somewhere, in a database of some sort. An idea struck him.

“Athena.” He spoke, one hand on his communications device as he walked towards his office.

“ _Yes, Soldier: 76?_ ” Her AI voice responded.

“Run facial recognition scan under Watson. Have your findings sent to my computer.”

“ _Of course. Is that all?_ ”

“Yes.”

-

Seven days of scans, tests, and inquiries from the doctor since your impromptu encounter with the knowledge that you had time travelled, not only left a weight on your mind like a ton of bricks, but also left you with irritation. She had failed to mention it thus far, and you weren’t sure she would. You couldn’t just ask her if you were mentally stable, or if she thought you could handle the information on your current situation. But at this rate, with her focus solely aimed towards scanning and testing your brain, you’d have to bring it up with her yourself. And you were certain that, that would be a _lovely_ conversation to have.

The fascination of both Mercy Zeigler, and the scientist – _Winston_ – was something of a collection of mutterings and long conversations held between scans that were _totally not from the future_ at all. In a way, it left you feeling down. Of course you weren’t anything special, you just happened to travel to the future, and really, that was the only thing they probably cared about.

The only real escape you got from the tests, scans and science talk between the two that you found was when you would sneak down the training centre. Usually during the early morning, or late at night. Once or twice you had found Zaryanova down there, and as hard as she was, you found her to be highly encouraging in her own way. She wanted you to be strong, and not necessarily like her, but in your own way. Testing the limits of what you could reach now, so you could improve on it for later when you might need it. In a way, it meant that you had already started what she had proposed when you first met her; personal training.

Other times, you found that the trio consisting of D.Va, Tracer, and Lúcio coming down to visit you in the infirmary where you had been kept. So far, they had shown you a movie called ‘ _Hero of My Storm_ ,’ a music album titled ‘ _Synaesthesia Auditiva_ ’ both of which you found enjoyable. It was at that stage that you realised why D.Va was surprised you hadn’t heard of her, she was in a well-recognised film. As for Lúcio, his music was good, _really_ good. It reminded you of EDM that you used to listen to before you joined the military profession.

Other than that, you were under the watchful gaze of Soldier: 76, who you very quickly noted that he was more your warden than someone you could potentially look to for anything helpful. It also meant that he was entirely too authoritative for your liking, causing you to look over your shoulder more than once in the long, empty halls.

Currently, you were trying to ‘earn your keep.’ No one had asked, or even implied that they expected you to do so, however, you decided that, on the one hand, you could spend time under the medical and scientific gazes of Winston and Mercy, _or_ you could gain a slightly higher clearance under the guise of wanting to do chores in an attempt to cure perpetual boredom. Which meant laundry.

Of course, some of the members of ‘Overwatch’ had thought you had a few screws missing for wanting to spend time doing chores, but you didn’t find yourself minding. It _did_ cure some of your boredom while providing you with a step above regular prisoner status. It also reminded you of the kids who would hang out in during your posting in Iraq. They’d do odd jobs for space change to care for their families. You on the other hand, were doing it both to give you an advantage in the facility, but also to abide by your principals.

The vents in the laundry room allowed you to listen to conversations that came down as distorted echo’s usually, but you found that if you listened hard enough, you could hear fragments of conversation. It also provided you with the knowledge that there were, in fact, air vents. However, that wasn’t todays objective. Lúcio had come by earlier in the morning, and, upon seeing your MP3 player, had promptly decided that he’d fix you up a pair of headphones to listen to the audio files you had on there, for which you’d forever be grateful to him for. He was a good kid.

You were folding a bedsheet when Maris’ voice filtered through your ears.

“ _Hey [Y/N]! How’s your day going?_ ” Her eight-year-old voice called out, a smile in her voice.

_It’s busy, sweetheart. But could be worse._

“ _Don’t forget, when you get home; it’s your turn to do laundry!_ ” You folded another piece of laundry, smiling at the irony of her reminder.

“ _And don’t you forget about me either!_ ” Her voice sounded concerned now, and you could imagine it. The way her eyebrows would furrow and turn up as her eyes widened. The way those wide doe-eyes would fixate on you if she had’ve been in the room with you.

“ _I don’t care if you find someone out there._ ” She huffs.

You can tell by the way she breathes in that she’s trying to sound happy but is having a really hard time. It breaks your heart every time you hear it. That little _gasping_ breath that tells you she’s trying not to fall apart, trying to be brave and not show you how sad she is. But you can tell, she couldn’t hide if from you even if, like in the recording, she tried.

“ _I’m your family – And I_ ”

 _Come first._ You finish with her, listening to the way her voice wavers, your throat tightening as you listen. Placing the last of the laundry into a large machine.

“ _I miss you, [Y/N]._ ” The way Mari spoke, her voice sounding so small, but yet so hopeful with she said your name, as if it wouldn’t be the last time she would say it. The last time she would see _you._ Your steps faltered, your throat tight as you heard what she wanted to tell you.

“ _I love you. Come home safe… Okay?_ ” You could tell that she put all of the love in her little heart into that line, because she loved you. And she would miss you, as much, if not more than you missed her. You hated it, the way you could tell she was just about ready to cry – no – the way she _had_ cried after that was recorded. You remember the way she had run out to you, tears running down her face when you were packing to go. You had spent so long reassuring her that you’d come back, that you’d be back and come home safe, the promise you made to her that you’d see her for her birthday.

You weren’t sure you’d keep it this time.

-

On the third floor on the west side of the building, sleeping with a pair of headphones on by a window was where you were found. You had a notebook in your lap, the sun having set hours beforehand. Soldier: 76 found you leaning against the wall, hair out and messy, dark circles prominent under your eyes. For a moment, he wondered when the last time you took time out to actually sleep was. Not that he had any room to question you about it when he barely took adequate hours himself, he was the biggest hypocrite when it came to spending more than an hour at maximum in terms of a solid block of time asleep. In saying that, he also had a designated sleeping quarters, whereas he didn’t think you had been assigned much more than a bed in the infirmary until Angela and Winston decided what they wanted to do with you.

What was it she had mentioned to him? Something about a scan. She had told him that your brain held high levels of activity even when you were unconscious. The specifics didn’t make a whole lot of sense, then again, nothing about you made a whole lot of sense to him. Although, what was perfectly clear, was that if you hadn’t have fallen asleep here by the window, you would’ve been in the training hall. You would’ve been putting your hands and feet through bruising after bruising against the sand-filled bags or pushing your muscles to the limit.

He turned his gaze to the sky, his thoughts turning to what exactly it was you were looking at before you fell asleep. All he saw was a vast mess of black, there was nothing there _to_ look at. His gaze turned back to look over you, head leaning against the window, hair sitting around your face. He looked down towards your lap and saw that you had rolled down the sleeves of your jacket. They made your hands look small. The notebook in your lap sat with it’s pages open, the ever-present polaroid leaning in the centre of the book.

He crouched quietly, looking at what it was you had been doing in the notebook, what kinds of thoughts you had spilled onto the pages. It was really none of his business to interfere, but he took it as part of his job, ‘gathering intel’ was something he _did._ You were no exception to the fact. What he saw was rather eye-opening. On the pages he found a short diary entry, in what was possibly the _worst_ handwriting he had ever experienced. The only thing useful to him being that you had only solidified his assumptions; everything was over-stimulating your senses. It also explained your borderline panic attack, with everything that was going around you, it made sense to cling onto what you knew, hell, even he was doing that in one way or another.

He also saw the same patch of sky, trees and overall view of the window sketched untidily on the next page, the shading making it look like you might’ve been looking out the window when it was drawn. What drew his attention, was the note in the corner, in the same messy and overall frustrating to read handwriting in the entry on the previous page.

_‘Mari,_

_I miss you kiddo, thinking about that dorky smile every day. God, I miss you._

_I love you. I’ll come back to you._

_I promise._

_[Y/N].’_

Soldier: 76 wasn’t really one to express his emotions, but he could sympathise with wanting to find someone you loved, someone you _missed_. He also knew that you weren’t one to express anything, yet, on the pages of this notebook, it looked as though you shared your thoughts and feelings. He found himself wondering if you had a child, and if you did, how old did that make you? If he had to make a guess, he’d say around the age of thirty. He still knew next to nothing about you, Athena hadn’t been able to dig up anything, no social media, no embarrassing photographs from when you were younger, not even a letter in the post or a new article. Nothing.

A name though, a pair of names, he could work with.

Your shifting caught his attention, head shaking as he stood and took a step backwards. He looked over you and took note of how you woke, tension gathering in your shoulders before spreading to your other muscles, face contorting from a peaceful calm to furrowed eyebrows and squinted eyes, lips set into a frown. Your tired eyes looked around before settling unsteadily onto him.

“Soldier…?” You mumbled as you brought your hands up to rubs at your eyes, dark circles not anywhere close to fading.

“Watson.” He stated, not wanting to give you any indication that he had interfered in what _technically_ wasn’t his business. “Why are you sleeping here?”

“Hm?” You sounded as though the question surprised you, your eyebrows furrowed further, your voice small, something hidden in there that he wasn’t sure he liked. “I didn’t mean to… Sir.”

“I suggest you find a better place to _nap._ ” He said, turning and walking down the hall. He had yet again, more questions.

“Yes, sir.” Your groggy voice all he heard you say before picking yourself up off the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading!  
> \- T.R. <3
> 
> Edited 11.03.2018


	4. Not A Cadet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "that was a Top counter.”  
> “You just earned yourself laps around the complex.”

“ _What?_ ” You stared at Winston, shock written completely over your face like a neon sign. You were being expected to _train_ like some _cadet_ under Soldier: 76.

“Doctor Zeigler and I have looked over the scans, Watson. You are able bodied, and as far as we can see so far, you are stable minded. You have the basic training.”

“So, I’m just _expected_ to shut my mouth and follow your orders, because – you _say_ so?”

“I won’t argue with you on this. You’ve been here for two weeks; the notion has already been approved in your medical report. Until we can figure out exactly what’s happened to your memories, it has been decided that you’ll be working for Overwatch.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, ‘ _Commander_ ’ 76 standing by the doorway. He was going to be your Lieutenant Colonel. The idea of him being your commanding officer had ice running along your veins. If he was anything like Aster back in Russia, you could be assured that general _acceptable_ physical threats were the least of your worries.

You gathered that the length of operations that went on were at a high disadvantage when it came to global efforts given the number of operatives you spent observing over the past two weeks. But to be spread so thin that they _needed_ you, someone who was as unknown to them as the concept of cassette tapes, left you thinking they were exceedingly desperate.

You watched as Winston looked over your file, spread out in front of him on the virtual interface of his desk. He looked exhausted, a constant line between his furrowed eyebrows, the signs of stress and poor sleep showing through – had your arrival disrupted his work that much? Or was it the stress of running a global organisation with too few hands? Sure, you were sympathetic, him being the only capable scientist other than Mercy, who was more of a medical doctor. But that didn’t really have anything to do with you, or how you could get out of here and back home.

“When do I start?” You sighed, knowing when you were beat.

You didn’t have ill feelings towards 76 – actually, that’s a lie, you didn’t appreciate his first impression. You didn’t feel comfortable spending hours at a time with him, possibly alone, when you could make one wrong move that would send you across the training hall and possibly into a treadmill. You rubbed absently at your left wrist where the Med-Band sat, a constant reminder that you were being monitored.

 “You start now.” Your new C.O. said behind you, his voice rough and commanding. You turned your head, snapping your gaze to the red light of his face. He gestured for you to follow him down the hall with a nod.

“Yessir.” You turned your body and walked out after him, shoulders set and ears at attention as you awaited orders. He didn’t say a word as you travelled through the halls, headed towards the training hall.

The lack of conversation allowed your mind to wonder, specifically to the soldier leading your path. He was human, that much you were certain of, although his face didn’t make sense. Was the metal just a cover, a type a mask maybe? His voice didn’t sound robotic, however, with the advancements of modern technology you couldn’t be sure that voice mapping and recognition couldn’t be doing most of the work. Aside from that, what would have to happen for an individual to require an entirely new _face_? Was it a birth defect? Protection, and if so, from what?

_Making guesses isn’t going to help. Pay attention. Honestly, how did you survive infancy? There’s work to do and all you’re doing is thinking about your commanding officers ‘ailment?’ Focus!_

“Welcome to day one, kid.” Your gaze snapped to the American standing beside you. No one had called you _kid_ since you were twelve. His gaze was set on the door leading _outside the facility_. Maybe training wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-

You were wrong. So unbelievably and horribly wrong. He had started your _warm up_ with _ten_ laps around the complex, by your count it equalled around _fifteen_ kilometres. You had to keep pace with him, neither slowing down or speeding up, otherwise you’d receive calls to fall back in line, slowing down promised rigorous labour after training, and going to fast had you burning energy faster. Both negative outcomes. You were covered in sweat by the time you had finished, lungs drinking in the fresh oxygen of the outdoors. Not that you had time to enjoy it.

Inside, you were put through sets. The first set of ten chin-ups was fine, by the third, of slow and completely controlled movements, your arms had a dull ache starting to form. However, at least for a small about of time, you had been off your feet despite the expense of working your core and upper body muscles. It was worth it until he put you onto push-ups and planks.

Always in sets of three, you did a total of forty-five push-up and three minutes worth of planking per set. Your arms and core muscles were aching, burning with the want to stop. You were pushing through it with sheer determination at this point, relying on your military stubbornness. Only now thanking the ten years of experience you had, otherwise you were _one-hundred-thousand_ percent sure you wouldn’t have even lasted the laps you had been set that morning. You were currently sitting at hour five, unsure of how many you had left before you could hit the showers and find a place to collapse.

You were on your last set of push-ups, an added ten kilograms on your back, and it certainly didn’t help that your _commander_ was counting each one. You were sure your arms knew _exactly_ which push-up you were up to, _thank you very much._

“ _35._ Ten more Cadet.” The sentiment, no, the role of cadet, was patronising at best, degrading at worst. You could feel your arms starting to shake as you lowered yourself down and pushed back up. You weren’t sure you’d be able to finish the set. You didn’t want to be called a cadet, didn’t want to have any mental connection to a seventeen-year-old you with so many _ideas_.

“ _36._ ” You _wanted_ to be addressed by your rank if he was going to address you by anything other than your name. You were a _Lance Corporal_ , the equivalent of a Corporal or Specialist in the American military. You weren’t some _private_ that needed to be handheld. Damnit, you had passed that stage within your first twelve months in the Australian army!

 

“ _37._ Stop slowing down.” 76 stated as you pushed up, breathing out. He could see the trembling in your arms. This level of training moderate to what he originally had planned for you. Seeing you now, with arms that looked like they could give out, he knew dialling back the intensity was for the best.

If he was honest with himself, the way you pushed yourself through the training was an admirable quality that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Most would’ve given up when their arms or legs started to not only _feel_ as though they were about to give, but so blatantly show the signs of getting to that point. It had him looking over you a tad more carefully in case your arms decided you should eat the floor.

“ _38_.” If you could finish the set, he would consider giving you the afternoon of with sparring. If you didn’t, he’d have to send you off with not only sparring, but a lap or so around the complex as motivation for next time. Not that he saw anything wrong with taking another lap either way, if you could push yourself to do it without over killing the physical strain, why not? Currently it was only there to encourage you to finish the training he set. “ _39.”_

He watched as you lowered back down before pushing up, huffing out a breath and taking another in. “ _40._ Five left, don’t stop, Cadet.”

He didn’t miss the way you grit your teeth, nor the way your muscles set to be increasingly rigid as you moved to finish the set. It appeared that the title annoyed you _exceedingly._

“ _41… 42… 43… 44…”_

 

Pushing up for the last time was a complete _bitch_ compared to the rest of the set. You managed an exasperated grunt with the effort it took before you came pack down, hearing Soldier: 76 count _forty-five_ , the last push-up. You let your arms relax, shoulders feeling stiff. You took in slow breaths, wanting to get in oxygen without dizzying yourself. Was this how it was going to be from now on? If you didn’t come out of this with higher stamina, you’d be servery disappointed and a little more than irritated.

“Get up Cadet. You’re not finished yet.” You brought your head up to look at him, of course your weren’t finished.

“Yes, Sir.” You breathed, groaning as you moved to your side, the weights sliding off you back and onto the floor beside you. You pushed yourself up, arms feeling like jelly after the tension in your previous set. Standing up, you rolled your shoulders, stretching out the stiff muscles in your back from keeping it dead straight for an extended period.

“You’re sparring.” He announced, your gaze turning to him, eyebrows furrowing. Was he joking? Sparring? After all of _that?_

“Against who?” You asked, not fully understanding. Turns out, that was a dumb question to add to the already extensive list as he walked to the centre of the sparring mat.

_Fuck._

Sighing inwardly, a string of curses directed towards whoever caused this situation to be taking place, both for time travel, and for sparring. You begrudgingly walked towards and onto the sparring mat. Shaking out your arms, you tried to alleviate some of the dull ache residing there. Maybe you could get your body to feel like it had at the start of training?

_Your arse. Is grass._

The oh so helpful though your mind chimed in resulted in missing you hear your sparring _partner_ call the start of the match, throwing a punch in your direction. You ducked when you processed the movement, it being partially the wrong movement, the blow colliding with your shoulder. Not only did it hurt like hell, but it had you groaning. You saw the second hit coming, narrowly dodging as he aimed for your middle. You needed you be faster, and, for your prides sake, land a blow or two of your own against the giant of a man. You threw your arms in front of you, using them to divert the momentum in his next blow away from you which mostly worked, sending you back a step or two in what was a half-hearted blow. _God_ that pissed you off, what was the point of sparring if you didn’t try?

It felt like a video-game cut-scene, your minds working to the possible blows that could be thrown your way. Right hook? You ducked under and around, circling around him as he brought his left leg up to kick at the height of your shoulders. You used the momentum to your advantage, ducking under his leg and using the split-second chance you had, forced your right foot forwards – kicking the back of his right leg, the blow landing at his knee, almost sending him to the floor. The hit obviously unexpected This fight was certainly far from over, it wouldn’t be until one of you were on the floor or couldn’t go on. You watched as the red of his visor turned to glare angrily at you even if you could hear the surprised breath the soldier took in.

You took a guess that his right was his dominant side, using it as a foundation for his hits. You tried to find a solution to fighting him, your stamina wasn’t at its best, and you certainly weren’t strong enough to defeat him, even at this half-hearted mockery of a sparring match he was sporting. You compared the height difference as you very nearly missed another blow, his foot hitting your ribs instead of your shoulder. It was then you came to the realisation that he had to _reach down to your level._

You ducked under the next hit he intended on placing, throwing all the momentum you could, hips swinging into it as your muscle memory worked with you to jab your elbow up. It landed against his throat, you spun and threw momentum into your foot to kick him in the side, hoping to land a blow there as he took a second to catch his breath, your legs stopping short as you assumed you landed the blow.

The thought only lasted the slightest fraction of a second as your leg was _yanked_ , body smacking the floor. Your commander was above you now, his legs on either side of your hips, effectively straddling you. His chest rising and falling at half the rate yours was. You could tell that the fight had done a little more than surprise him, and to be completely honest, it surprised you as well. The satisfaction of _almost_ wining by your own standards (which is to say that you were going to lose anyway) took you over. Of course, you didn’t exactly play fair, but the satisfactory smile that ghosted your features due to one upping him even a little bit, was worth it.

“Well… That was a _Top_ counter.” You commented, rather than keeping it to yourself. A lightness in your tone that you hadn’t heard in a while. You watched the soldier above you groan at the comment as he got up.

“You just earned yourself laps around the complex.”

-

Seated in the mess hall with D.Va, Lúcio and, of course, Tracer, the conversation was lively as you bit into a piece of the apple you had cut for yourself. The topic was something specific about D.Va’s mech, probably the suspension. Not that it meant anything to you. Your thoughts were in the past. You wondered, if it was that you travelled forward in time like you heard, how many birthdays would you miss? How many Easters and Christmases would your little sister wait for you to come home until she gave up, without a hope of having your body back home to bury? Would she hate you for going, or would she continue life like you would want her to?

You sat on the thought for a good minute or so, until the conversation at the table died down to a halt. You let yourself become present again, following D.va’s gaze only to find Soldier: 76 walk past your table. You popped the rest of the apple piece into your mouth. He wasn’t _that_ bad, you supposed, rough around the edges, sure. But he hadn’t left you to sort out a broken hand, or a list of chores for his own failing to notify you of objectives to complete around the base. He sure didn’t deserve the sudden silence simply due to his mere presence, either.

“Hey, Watson. Didn’t Winston stick you with the old man for training?” Your gaze snapped to D.Va, her eyebrow was raised at you.

“Mm.” You nodded, swallowing the half-chewed apple. “So?”

“Tirou a pahla curta.” Lúcio commented from across the table. You turned your confused gaze to him, not understanding the Portuguese term. “Short straw.”

“It’s alright.” You said, shrugging as you chewed off more of your apple.

“Are you sure, love?” Tracer asked from beside you. “He can be hard to work with.”

“Even I’d rage quite on that.” D.Va commented, bringing a pair of chopsticks with some type of noodle up to blow cool air against it.

You shrugged, taking the last piece of your apple and putting it into you mouth before making your statement. “I’ve had worse.”

There was a pause after that as the trio around you looked to each other.

“M’done.” You said as you stood.

“Leaving already?” D.Va asked you, concern in her expression.

“Guess so.” You shrugged.

“Come hang out with us tonight, mermão.” Lúcio suggested. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Tracer agreed, D.Va nodding along.

“Why?” You countered, not really understanding the purpose of their proposal, nor that fact that they didn’t understand that you would prefer to be left to your own devices.

“It’ll be fun!” D.va repeated Lúcio’s sentiment. “We’ve shown you movies, we could show you some really cool games! And Lúci’s music is off the charts!”

“Tracer brings the gang together with her energy and pumping optimism.” Lúcio added.

“A car can’t work without four wheels, you know.”

Would it really be that bad to spend time with them? With others around the base? You could probably use the down time… It all sounded so _normal_. The exact opposite of what you were used to. You considered the offer, it seemed truly harmless. You sighed and sat back down.

“I’ll come along. But only for an hour.” You told them, looking at their beaming faces as they all smiled at both you, and each other.

“Fantastic!” Tracer cheers, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as you stiffen.

“I wonder which game we should play first.” D.va said, her tone thoughtful.

“We could try Final Fantasy 25.”

“Nah, the storyline for that is like, 200 hours.”

“You’ve played through the whole thing, haven’t you love?”

“Twice.”

“How about Maze Run X-7? It’s got a really good soundtrack.” Lúcio smiled, excited at the idea.

“Hm… It _does_ have a good sound track, but that’s a bit too _Pepe Save’s The World_.” D.Va said, disgust in her voice as she turned to you. “What do you think we should play?”

“Uh…” You looked at the three in front of you, their expectant gazes on you as though you’d have an answer straight away. “I really only know of Pacman and King Kong.”

“ _What?!”_ D.Va nearly shrieked. “Those are so _old!_ ”

You found that you cheeks grew warm, no doubt supplied by a flush redness. “Well, I never really owned a game console. I had a Gameboy when I was a kid, but that was about it.”

“A _Gameboy?_ ” Tracer questioned.

“Yeah, it was a rectangular type of console that pretty much only had Tetris on it. Took four double-A’s and – What?” You looked at them. D.Va’s jaw couldn’t have been any closer to the floor if she tried. Tracer having an astounded expression on her face, and Lúcio looked interested in what you were describing, like it was genuinely interesting to hear about.

Suddenly you had one-million-and-one questions flying at you, predominantly from D.Va who was questioning everything from what Tetris was, to what exactly a ‘Double-A’ was. It was an interesting conversation, not that you could remember everything, but you described it the best you could, telling them that if they were really that interested, they could ask the AI program that seemed to be present throughout the entire base.

The conversation had lasted the better part of an hour before you moved off to D.Va’s room. Her walls covered in a few posters of work she had done over the years. The most prominent feature siting around her computer; photographs of what you assumed was her squad by the matching uniforms as well as art and other types of media sent in by her ‘fans.’ You could tell that she had a give heart, and cared deeply for the people she spent her time with, even if she came off as a bit aloof.

With the three cheerful companions you had inherited during your time at the Overwatch HQ so far, you spent the better part of the night playing games, hours passing by quickly with everything ranging from Go-Kart racers to hand-to-hand combat games. Suffice to say; you sucked. Badly. It wasn’t for lack of trying, you were very much focused on the games and, therefore, challenges, D.Va put before you. Your concentration had you sticking your tongue out like a child, lips pressed together around it as you leaned forward, staring at the screen in concentration. Your fingers clumsily tapping over the highly sensitive buttons. The attitude of the group around you who were, cheerful, applauding your efforts; cheering whether you won or lost. There were no consequences here, you realised. These young kids were quickly becoming your friends in what felt like a building made to test you at every corner.

It felt good.

They took your mind from your sorrows. Away from the time travel, the training, the scans and constant testing that kept your tensions running at a constant high. Even away from the need to calculate every aspect of each decision purely due to the need to _survive_ even in places you cognitively knew were safe. It took the blankness from you face, from your gestures as you came out of the stoic wall you had surrounded yourself in – finding a window that might later become a door. You were able to experience the childish joy others had lifetimes of memories of.

Round after round of the games that were put before you, left you with childish glee, the defeats no longer weighing down so hard on your mind as they did when you started. They weren’t a big deal, at least, not to your companions who regarded every defeat with the same cheering as any victory. They only encouraged you to do your best.

Until the first ‘ _Victory_ ’ appeared on your side of the screen.

All hell broke loose, the three around you jumping around and cheering with a loudness that had you covering your ears due to the volume on your overly sensitive ears. A grin on your face, laughing at their utter ridiculousness. You were sure half the base could probably hear them, the cheering and congratulations from each of them being thrown your way. The joy was contagious. Little did you know; the sound of your laughter was music to their ears after the past few weeks of muted expressions.

“Up for another round?” D.Va called out, queuing it up anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading!  
> \- T.R. <3
> 
> Edited 12.03.2018


	5. Respectfully, Fuck You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re digging yourself a grave –“  
> “What? Be prepared to lie in it?”

_'I suggest you find a better place to nap.’_ Soldier: 76’s voice echoed through your head as you sat by the window, colours thrown in a spectrum of reds and purples across the sky. Hardly anyone disturbed you here. It was quiet, and hell, sometimes you just _had_ to get away from people. Away from the noise and the buzzing of electricity in wide hallways or places like the infirmary where there were so many devices _running_. Coming here had become part of your daily routine. Over the past week since your night of gaming with the ‘Tree Musketeers’ you spent each day training, going through drills and sets with 76. Thus far he had taught you basics – mostly things you already knew. It was familiar, and it brought a sort of calm as you threw yourself into it, the routine training becoming more and more like muscle memory.

After training you’d usually share a meal with the younger agents who had quickly become friends to you, more than you could consider yourself to them. Today, you had skipped the option to each with them. Watching the sunset, wanting to do so from start to finish today. The colours were more vibrant today, clouds covering the sky. You wondered if it would rain soon; you loved the rain. You sat with your arms wrapped around one knee, the other leg out straight in front of you. The world at ease for a few precious moments, these usually being the ones you would plug in your headphones and listen to Maris’ voice. Her picture sitting in your hand. Her face smiling brightly at you.

The window had almost become your ‘spot’ in a lot of ways. No one really walked by, it was just inside a blind spot of a security feed. It was disconnected from the crazy outside world of the future and it’s millions of things you couldn’t even begin to understand. Sitting there it didn’t matter if the other agents of Overwatch thought you were crazy for doing a chore or two when it needed to be done, nor did it matter how hard you would push yourself when you trained. At the end of the day, you still had this. The sunset.

Hell, if Hanzo could preach about meditation and finding peace, glorified bathrobe and all, you could certainly find it for yourself in these small moments.

You ran your thumb along the edge of the polaroid in your hand, the edges worn and middle starting to fade despite your careful folding to keep it from doing so. Her smiling face was still the most beautiful thing you had ever had the blessing of experiencing in person. The sun was starting to dip further behind the trees.

You’d find a way back home to her eventually or die trying. It was a promise you were making to yourself, you wouldn’t stay more than half a century into your future. You’d get back home and make a difference, even if that meant leaving the army, risking the loss of being paid due to the aim at the special pension reserved for soldiers who serve twenty years. You could get a real job that would still pay the bills, one that would let you spend time with your sister. Try to make up for lost time.

“Cadet.” You jolted at the sound of your Commander’s voice, his tone sending your mind reeling to images of memories you’d rather keep buried. You stood from the ground, at attention.

“Yes, Sir?” You stood with your shoulders straight and right arm up in a salute.

“At ease.” He started, you placed your arm down at your side. You were still rigid, fingers curled into fists.

You nodded at him when he hadn’t continued with your orders.

“Winston wants to see you in his lab. He’s got intel he wants to show you.” Your eyebrows furrow as you grow confused, eyes turning towards the ground. It had been in the last week that they had stopped running scans. Could they really have sorted through everything that quickly? It was a hell of a lot of data. More importantly, what was so important that they had to interrupt you during the _one_ thing you looked forward to each day?

“Can - - Sir, may I have a minute to - -”

“No. He wants to see you asap.” Soldier: 76 stood there, his arms folded over his chest with a coldness as though he were scolding a child making a stupid decision. You relaxed your fingers. Maybe it _was_ stupid to look forward to something as silly as a sunset.

You nodded, a defeated sigh falling from your lips as you moved forward, following an invisible path to Winston’s lab. If it truly was that important, then you supposed the sunset could wait until tomorrow. Not like they thought much of the natural phenomenon anyway. You took note that 76 didn’t join you on your long walk towards the lab. Was it a private matter? They didn’t really exclude him otherwise.

You followed the stairs down to Winston’s lab, the electric buzzing faintly in your ears left you tense as you stepped through the doorway. Both Winston and Doctor Zeigler were in the lab, documents open on the electronic interface of the desk. The gorilla scientist looked up at you upon approach.

“Watson. Please, have a seat.” He started, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. You sat, albeit hesitantly.

“We have some concerns.” Mercy told you, her eyebrows furrowed, looking over a type of chart. Your own concern only grew as you saw document after document glowing over the desk, each one having a single name written on it.

_Watson._

 “You need to listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” the scientist started, his gaze sympathetic. You nodded, urging him to continue. He brought up a document, your original medical report, it seemed. “When Tracer brought you in, we didn’t know what to make of you.”

“She insisted there was something special about you.” Mercy cut in, looking at the document hovering between the three of you. “She said that you were different from other civilians.”

“The tests we conducted over the past three weeks have concluded quite a few things.” Winston states, bringing up a 3D holographic image of a brain. “The first being that you have an abnormally high level of perception and processing.”

“Meaning?” You asked, wanting to prompt the conversation along when it looked like both doctor and scientist were going to hesitate.

“It means,” She sounded hesitant to tell you, walking over to lean against the desk and face you. “Your brain sorts through information at an increased rate, constantly taking in information in your environment and analysing it. Like a super computer that is constantly running, even when you’re not conscious.”

“Is that a problem?” your gaze flicked between them.

“Ordinarily, no.” She sighed, placing two fingers against her temple. “Watson, it seems that whilst your mind has amplified its ability to process information, this has also lead to an increase of each of your five senses.”

Winston separates the image of the brain into two, different levels of colours appearing.

“In the first scan, you can see that your mind is working and processing information at around thirty cycles per second whilst in your induced _coma_. The second shows the activity to be running at forty cycles per second.”

You looked at the images, it impressed you that your brain could be processing so much, so quickly.

“We believe this has something to do with your lost memory.” Winston adds, bringing up yet another series of scans that no doubt leads down to some chemical equation as you why you’re the way you are. “It has to do with the theory of time travel.”

You nodded. The change in subject taking your interest, they were only just now deciding to tell you even though you had already known for weeks. You weren’t sure if you should be thankful that they were coming forward with it, or offended that it took so long.

“Watson, we are under the belief that whatever happened before you were found in London, has led to travel through time.” Mercy crossed her arms, button down shirt and lab coat bunching at her elbows. “It’s both fascinating and concerning.”

“And, how does this connect to my _brain_?” Your question was pointed. You didn’t see how the topic concerned you other than the fact that it was your brain at work. It frustrated you. If they knew this, then what were you all siting around for? Why weren’t you looking for a way _home_?

“Watson,” Winston’s voice was full of compassion, hints of sympathy laced through it. “We know very little in terms of your condition or even how it came to be.”

“ _Why?_ ” You stared at them, eyebrows furrowed and finger nails digging into your palms as you sat in the chair in front of Winston’s desk.

“We only know what you’ve told us. There are no records of anything that could help us to get you back to your own time. Please understand - -“

“ _Russia._ ” You ground out, hanging your head. The conversation pauses, your head felt hot, cheeks flushed with both shame of failing to keep mission details confidential, and the disgust you held. You were desperate to get home… But at this cost? The cost of potentially important information?

“What was that?” Mercy asked you, her voice so irritatingly calm.

“I was in Russia.” You bring your hands to your lap to grip onto the fabric of your pants instead of digging so hard into your palms. “I was working surveillance.”

You could hear the tell-tale signs of typing as what you were saying wa being recorded on yet more reports about you.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” You heard mercy ask, feeling as though there was a sort of condescending hint that probably wasn’t actually _there._

“It’s classified. The whole mission… I’m not even supposed to tell you where I was.”

“Why?” _Why?_ What did she mean, why? What part of classified information did these people not respect?

“Doctor.” You started, eyes trained on your shoes. “I am giving you all I can on the mission. It is my duty as part of the Australian Armed Forces to not tell you anything about it. The information I have supplied you so far would get me court-martialled alone.”

You blocked out their voices as best you could after that. You didn’t want the questions. Your heartbeat was rising, the feeling of being unsafe filling your chest as it had on day one of being in the facility. You weren’t supposed to tell them about the mission. And you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them the specifics, but you had given them a location. You were sure that was enough. God, you were so _selfish._ Selfish for wanting to go home instead of protecting the information as it was your duty to do. Selfish for wanting to see your little sister, for wanting to get home.

For wanting _sunsets._

You slowly forced yourself back into the conversation, you had to deal with what was in front of you. Had to deal with the repercussions of leaking classified information to people who weren’t supposed to be privy to the information you just _handed over._ An image of blood coated the backs of your eyelids. Blood on your hands, on walls, clothes, limbs. You could practically _feel_ your guilt sticking to you like drying blood.

You took a deep breath as you looked up at them.

“What is your point in all this?” You asked, jaw clenching, hands trembling in your lap, skin flushed in controlled anger.

“Watson, almost the _entirety_ of your brain is working at any given time. Taking in information, analysing it, processing and presenting it to you with a speed that we have never seen before. It is simply faster than any human has been able to accomplish. It is likely that this will not ever happen again.” Winston tried to explain, hints of curiosity and excitement in his tone.

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re focusing on my brain to see just how ‘ _spectacularly_ ’ it works? See if I maybe have a few screws loose that maybe some _duct tape_ can hold together long enough for you to just _examine?_ ” You were raising your voice, every syllable pointed with the precision of a fresh blade. Your blood felt like it was boiling, face burning with anger that you just couldn’t hold in.

“Watson, that’s not - -“

“I’m not _finished!_ ” You growled as you stood from the chair, legs scraping against the floor. “I’m not going to just hang out and wait for you to ‘ _fix_ ’ me and send me home.”

“We don’t know if it was _just_ your mind that has been affected.” Mercy tried to reason, bringing her hands forward to reach for your shoulder. You shove her hands away.

“I travelled into the – _fucking_ – future. Which, by the way, I knew about a fortnight ago.” Your voice was venom now, acidic as your eyes focused on the doctor’s shocked expression. “But oh no ma’am. That’s not the _best part!_ I get to have the equivalent of a ‘super computer’ as if that’s a _blessing_ that I should be bowing down to some god for. And yet I still get to find out that you with all your fancy equipment and future tech – don’t have a single, foggy clue as to what the _bloody hell_ is wrong with me?!”

“Watson, please, try to understand, we –“

“You _What?_ Just want to help me? You want to try to understand my condition?” You shook your head, voice levelling out to a commanding tone. “I know your organisation needs new members because of the geographical spread of all of your soldiers. But I’m not a cadet, nor a private. I’m a fucking _Lance Corporal_. I don’t need to be talked to as if I’m stupid. If I have to be _fucked up_ because of the sheer ‘ _concept’_ of time travel, then I can sure as hell find my own way to get back to my own time and fix all of this _absolute bullshit._ ”

You turned and stormed out. The scientist and doctor with all of their graphs, diagrams and data spread around the room had not a word to say. The display of frustration and anguish enough to silence them. It only took the edge off the amount of anger you had slowly piling on for weeks in the same halls, same rooms, same god forsaken building. You were probably less than welcome in their office now, you realised.

It wasn’t that what they said had made you mad to begin with. It was that they spoke with both the terminology of someone who was supposed to understand, and the condescending undertones of people who would regard you as stupid, or with no possible hope of understanding. A dull ache started in your chest, settling everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You pushed it down, not wanting to deal with it, not wanting to deal with _anyone._

You were headed towards the window, knowing full-well that the sunset would be gone, and that you would have to last until tomorrow to see it. When you arrived at the window, the mood changed dramatically. The soldier was standing there, leaning against a wall by the window, staring out, a cup of coffee in his gloved hand. The sun expectedly gone as you approached, not wanting to back away and find somewhere else. You leant against the other wall, arms folded as you tried to compose yourself and rein in the anger before you opened your mouth and ruined things between the only other person of authority that you knew of.

After a moment or two, you felt his gaze on you. He could probably see the flush across your skin from being in the lab and snapping at his colleagues. You could feel it, even as you wondered how you would get the band around your wrist off and leave the facility. If you could find a hacker, they might be willing to get it off your arm. Although the idea was entertained, you knew it would never work, not only would you need to find a computer to do so, but you really had nothing to trade. There was no chance it would work.

“You lied.” 76 said from next to you, voice lowered.

“What?” Your gaze turned to him, the light of his visor emitting softly in the dark of the hall as he face you.

“Your name isn’t Watson.” He stated, the air turning threatening with the danger that seemed to radiate off him in waves. “You _lied._ ”

“I didn’t lie.” Your tone was calm, level even. It surprised you how quickly the anger bubbled back up as your fingers curled to dig into your arms as you kept them folded. If he decided you were a threat then there wasn’t much of a future ahead of you, here or in your own time.

“If you didn’t lie, then what the _hell is this?_ ” He took a folded pile of paper from his pocket and held it out to you.

You took it from him, your gaze turning downwards as you unfolded the paper, reading over it. The basis of the accusation, and the information had a great many things running through you as you read over things you already knew. How the _actual fuck_ did he get this? The man standing before you was much smarter than you gave him credit for, he had found your birth certificate, the school you went to, even the date you enlisted into the fucking army. He had the name of your little sister, Maris [L/N]. He knew who you were, and it showed in his cocky-arsed, military drilled attitude.

“Something wrong, _[Y/N]?_ ” His voice was like the distant rumble of thunder, promising lightning to come, it sent ice through your _bones._

“How did you find this?” You looked up at him, was there really any point in hiding it anymore?

“Wouldn’t have had to go looking if you had’ve told the truth.”

“Yeah, because the _truth_ is that your name is really ‘ _Soldier: 76’_ ” Your voice was dripping with both sarcasm and anger. Fingers gripping onto the pages in front of you, heart beat rising. You _almost_ regretted your decision to snap at him when he leaned down to your level.

“You’re digging yourself a grave - -“

“What? _Be prepared to lie in it?_ ” You finished for him, your entire body facing him, jaw set and shoulders straight, glaring into the ‘eyes’ of his face. “I constructed the fine print on my funeral the day I signed the enlistment paperwork. _I’m already lying in it._ I’m. Waiting. To. Fall. _Asleep._ ” You hissed, shoving the papers into his chest as you turned, leaving with the last word, bitterness seeping into every last crevice of your body.

Deep down, you knew getting home was a stab in an inky blackness that could swallow you whole. Seeing your little start was as good as your chances of getting your next ‘headshot’ in one of D.Va’s videogames the next time you play. Near on impossible. If everyone around you could stop looking at you, your name and your _family_ and start looking at your situation, maybe you would be home by now.

If they wouldn’t focus on what was important, then you would.

 

“Well done, _mishka_.” Zaryanova’s praise touched your bittersweet mood with a cheerfulness that had you feeling tired.

You had come to the training hall to blow off some steam, away from the infirmary, but still being productive, even if it was for your own gain. The Russian woman beside you handed over a water bottle as you sat up. You took it, stretching out one arm as you drank from the bottle. Your gaze turned to the weights, the total seated at about 180 pounds. Your goal was to bench 200 by the end of the month, if you were even still here at that point. You looked up when a shadow fell over your legs, looking up you saw the strongwoman standing over you, arms across her chest over a pink tank-top.

“Something is on your mind.” It certainly wasn’t a question, the stern undertone of her voice encouraging you to tell her what was bothering you in a very distinctively Russian way.

“It’s nothing too important.” You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders.

“You are happy with progress, no?” she sits across from you, taking a weight in her hand.

“My progress is fine – here at least.” You sigh, watching as Zaryanova uses the weight, doing bicep curls.

“Then, is an emotional issue.” She states, levelling your gaze with hers.

“Call it an altercation – an emotional immaturity, if you will.” You look out across the training hall, breaking eyecontact.

“What causes you to think that?”

“Over the course of the lax six hours, I’ve managed to be aggressively insubordinate.” You crack your knuckles, fingers giving as easily to the motion as you had to your previous anger.

“Is it important?”

“What?” Your gaze turned back to the woman sitting in front of you, working her muscles. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Was it a necessary argument?” She was looking down at her arm as she completed another curl.

_Was it?_

You were a little stunned, did you really need to have the argument? Sure, you could’ve gone about it differently, but you had been so _angry_. You had felt like a child, everything down to something as trivial as a sunset stripped from you. It had made you feel vulnerable, defensive. Did Winston and mercy deserve to be yelled at? No, not really. But it was something you had to get off your chest. You didn’t think anyone would listen to you otherwise. Not even the soldier who appeared to take in your every word with a critical eye, he probably fact checked everything. You nodded.

“Yeah, I think… I think it was.”

“Then what is the problem?” She looked up at you.

“I…” You pressed your mouth into a line, looking at your hands as your shoulders sagged. “I think it’s going to severely mess up my shot at getting home.”

“Home is where you make it, _mishka._ ” You felt a hand come to rest on your shoulder. “Is not home that is problem, yes?”

“I have… A family – a sister – to get back to.” You move your gaze to look up at her.

“You have much to learn.” Zaryanova sighs, running a hand through her bright pink hair. “Brothers and sisters are here as well.”

“How do you mean?” You were confused, just what’d she mean by that?

“To live, to _fight_ in team. Would you not live and die for them?” She asks, giving you some ‘food for thought.’ “Are they not family in arms?”

You stared at the woman in front of you, giving you sound advice. Sure, you had to figure out the answer for yourself, but really you should’ve asked yourself that before. You’d not even been here a month and yet you had already acquainted yourself with new people, new _friends._ Were you being selfish by not accepting what was put in front of you? Throwing away the opportunity to do better?

“You might just be right, Zaryanova.” You decided. The two of you stood, her height allowing her to tower over you without a thought. You grasped each other’s forearms, the grin on her face was brilliant as it was cocky.

“Of course, I’m right, _mishka._ ” She pats you on the back as you turn to leave. “I’m Russian.”

You left her in the training room, a calm sitting over you as you thought about what she had given you to consider. There was a lot you had to sort out.

-

The next morning, you were standing in Winston’s, having just interrupted a meeting he was having with Mercy and Soldier: 76. Which was unbelievably convenient. The issue certainly wasn’t going to sort itself out, and you had to get it over with. Standing there now, you felt small and insignificant, your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to compose not only your apology, but also your defence as to why you had argued and yelled at them in the first place. In a way, you felt as though they expected you to apologise, not that you had much of a choice. You didn’t want any more debts to pay.

“I want to apologise, for my actions yesterday.” You started, attempting to keep your voice even with their attention pointed at you. Your hands sat in front of you, one hand holding your other wrist. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was wrong, and immature. Especially when I’m here out of the generosity of your organisation.”

You took a breath, slowly, eyes scanning each of them to see if there was any disbelief or perhaps any hatred in the eyes of the trio that you considered judge, jury and executioner. You straightened your shoulders.

“Specifically, I wish to apologise for providing you a false name. I understand that there may be distrust of my position here, but by providing a pseudonym, I had a way to protect my identity… Not that it did much good in the end.” You looked at Soldier: 76, red visor light staring right at you. “I don’t mean you any harm. Not to your operation, families, or any information you have here. My name is [Y/N] [L/N], I am a Lieutenant Colonel of the Australian military… And I wish to formally apologise, and request that I take responsibility for my immature actions.”

Your long-winded apology didn’t go without its flaws, and you certainly hoped they would accept it, even if you highly doubted it. This was, realistically, the best wicket you had in terms of not only surviving in the future without any knowledge of how anything from income to shelter worked. It was also your best show at getting home. You didn’t know what was outside the perimeter of the facility, not with the Mad-band around your arm tracking your location.

You fidgeted as you waited for them to respond, your gaze turned down to your shoes as they looked at each other, the silent conversation running over your head. You were mentally preparing for them to drag your arse out of the facility with nothing more than what you had arrived with.

You hear Winston clear his throat. “Well, uh. This is a change of events, certainly. But your apology is accepted.”

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, you were surprised. The only other person in the room who even showed a fraction of sharing that same sentiment was 76, who had tensed as Winston spoke.

“However,” He continued. “we understand that mistakes are made, but as you said, you wish to take responsibility. I believe the best course of action would be to leave you at the hands of Soldier: 76 to levy the consequences.”

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, turning when you were dismissed. Walking out of the lab you mulled it over; Soldier: 76, the American hard as nails Commander with a stick up his arse was going to deal your hand. Perhaps by the end of this, you wouldn’t need to find a way home after all.

-

Boots falling in step, Angela Zeigler and Soldier: 76 made their way towards the MedBay where Angela was looking to drop off some printed documents for filing. The topic of conversation was you.

“I know Watson had an altercation with Winston and I… But one with you,76? I hadn’t suspected that.” Her tone was thoughtful, her arms resting comfortable around the stack of files in her arms.

“A pointed conversation.” He clarified, opening a door for Angela to step through first. His thoughts on the content of the conversation he had shared with you.

“And that’s when you discovered that her name is, in fact, [Y/N]?”

“No. I have been looking into her from the moment she woke up.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I have a few concerns about her.”

“General, or security?”

“Mental.”

He nodded, his mind flicked to the sight of you, anger so prevalent that you had been trembling with it. Eyes holding a darkness he had seen to many times in the mirror.

“I’m not certain of the extent of her condition… It’s… difficult.” She admits, eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s certainly something of an enigma.” He agreed, watching as Angela stepped through the entrance of the MedBay.

“I will have to test for Post-Traumatic Stress…” She sighs, placing the files on her desk. “One can only wonder what she has had to do with the old ideals.”

Soldier: 76 placed his hands in his pockets, the sight of you laying against the window appeared behind his eyes. The journal page that had been damp with tears, the note to a young child, and the way you were perpetually tense whenever you were anything but asleep. If he thought about it, perhaps he was being too hard on you from a security standpoint. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that you carried yourself the way you did due to your experience. What was it you had told him?

You were waiting to fall asleep.

He considered the implications of that statement. Being here, closed off from the outside would, admittedly, send even him stir-crazy. But he didn’t that was what it was, the only thing he really considered in your actions was that it consisted of an almost muscle memory that set you into a routine best to adapt yourself to the environment.

“Is there anything I should take into consideration, Soldier?” She was looking at him now, her tone suggesting it wasn’t just the facts she wanted.

“That soldier needs help, Angela.” He admitted, sighing. “Don’t push too much, too fast.”

“Understood.” She wrote something down, eyebrows furrowed. “I best be tending to her arrangements.”

-

You felt a pair of eyes on you as you pulled yourself up for your sixty-seventh consecutive chin-up, a weight seated on your calves that were crossed at the ankle. You had been waiting in the training hall for Soldier: 76 to show up and give you your orders. It was possibly a stupid idea to place yourself on the highest bar to do chin-ups in the training hall, however it ensured that your feet wouldn’t touch the ground. You huffed as you pulled yourself up again, adjusting the grip of your hands, feeling as though they were starting to slip. You left yourself down before pulling back up, bringing your feel up when they felt like they were dropping, keeping your focus on the bar.

“You have better form. Good to know you were listening.” A deep, gruff voice called from beneath you.

It startled you, not expecting whoever had come in to come by and talk to you. You tried to adjust you grip as your hands faltered on the bar you were pulling yourself up to. The surprise yelp you gave as you slipped from the bar was replaced with the immediate realisation that you could potentially be seriously injured when you hit the floor. You brought your arms out as if that would do anything.

The hard floor never reached you, your descent suddenly slowed to a careful halt as you heard the weight _thud_ loudly against the floor. A pair of strong arms were around you, holding under your knees, and across your back. Your heart beating quickly to both exertion and the sudden slip. You looked up to see Soldier: 76, the red light of his visor up close not as intimidating in the light of the training hall.

You breathed in, realising that he had caught you as though you had weighed literally _nothing_. It would’ve made for a romantic moment if you weren’t in the army, or if the thought that he was your _commanding officer_ only there to make sure you knew just how badly you had screwed up.

“Thank you - - sir.” You mumbled as he put you down.

“You need to be more careful, cadet.” He stated.

“Because falling for you is something I can account for.” You muttered.

“What was that?” There was an edge lace in his voice.

“Nothing, Sir.”

“Exactly. Drop and give me fifty.”

This was going to turn out just _great._

 

You weren’t getting up there, no way your arms could pull your body towards the bar. Since when did you weigh this much? Your legs felt like mush, the muscles exhausted. Push-ups were fine, planking across two benches, you were okay with that. _Fifty damn laps_ around the complex had left your legs turned into jelly. And after all that, you were back at square one; chip-ups. You were up to number 34 out of _one-hundred_. You couldn’t do it, you didn’t want to do it. But he wouldn’t let you down, not until you finished. Sweat was pouring off you in waves, making if that much harder to pull yourself up.

76 stood with his arms folded near you, watching as you pulled yourself up, grunting with the effort it took to simply pull yourself upwards. Your hair was a mess, having no chance to retie it for the duration he had been dealing with you so far. This form of cruel and unusual punishment confused you, originally, you thought he’d make you scrub the room, do laundry and other chores until he had thought you’d done enough to satisfy the grievance.

This hadn’t been what you had in mind _at all._ Did he enjoy putting you through training? Watch as you eventually struggled to so a basic set? You pulled yourself up, falling back to the full length of your arms before your chin could raise above the bar. _Dammit._

“You can’t come down until you finish.” He reminded you, and you were sure you could hear a smirk in his stupid voice. You’d be hanging here for the rest of the century!

“I _can’t_ get up there.” You groaned, trying again to pull yourself upward, muscles protesting with every centimetre.

“Then you’ll just have to hang there.” You pulled yourself maybe an inch higher, gritting your teeth at the comment.

“Sir?”

“What, Cadet?”

“Respectfully Sir… Go _fuck yourself._ ” You quipped, pulling your chin above the bar.

-

“You told _Soldier: 76_ to – _ha!_ That’s so great!” D.Va laughed at the comment you had made to the commanding officer hours ago, making your way down the hall with trembling muscles.

“I don’t feel great.” You groaned. He m=had made you clean the _entire_ training hall after the smart-arse comment.

“Still. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to say it.” She smiled at you, “I can’t quite tell if that was a stupid or brave move on your part though.”

“Trust me, D.va, it was _incredibly_ stupid.” You stopped at your door, the one with the sticky note on it, your name written down in neat letters.

“Hey,” D.Va turned to you, your gaze now on her. “Call me Hana.”

“You nodded at her. “Alright… Hana.”

You opened the door to your room and stepped inside. You were taken aback, it was certainly bigger than you thought, especially when you considered it housed a single person. There was a bed in the centre of the wall, too big to be a single bed, yet too small to be considered a double bed. Next to it on the right side was a desk, at the corner facing the wall, a window seated above it. The window just enough to let natural light in during the day. Next to the door was a dresser. There was still ample room for you to walk around, and have another person inhabit the space with you.

You looked at the room, your eyes widening. It might’ve been quaint, or small to some standards, but if filled you with a small sense of security. A sense of ease that came with having a space that was _yours._ Hell, you had your own _bed._

When was the last time you had your own bed?

“At least something good came out of all this.” You sighed, walking over and running your hand along the covers. They felt soft.

“I’ll let you get settled into the new room.” You could hear the smile in her voice. “Meet us for dinner?”

“Yeah… Sure.” You nodded, hearing the door close behind her.

You turned and laid down on the covers, sinking into it, the mattress firm and holding you properly. It smelled like vanilla and something earthy. Not wanting to move, you laid there, staring at the ceiling, contemplating just how lucky you were in a lot of ways. Being here had improved you physically already, you were significantly more fit than you had been the first couple days you used to sneak off to the training hall. You had gained a sort of surrogate family born out of the battlefield rather than during the middle of it.

Tracer kind of reminded you of your sister, energetic and optimistic with an impatience that rivalled most. Hana was what you thought a ‘best friend’ should be, with her competitive nature and overly fantastic instinct to read the emotions of people. Lúcio was like a brother to you, his music was pretty good and showed not only his work ethic, but his big heart that you could see in each interaction you had. Even Zaryanova had made it into the mix, he solid advice had you in the position were in now, pushing through and trying to stick it out. To be patient and prepared for the possibility that you might not actually be able to get home.

Even McCree was on the list, only, he spent most of his time either in the firing range or doing god-knows-what somewhere else. He was always up for the company though, if you had time to give it. Your ‘acquaintanceship’ was more him openly flirting with you, like he did with most anyone (except Tracer – something about a girlfriend?) and you’d have a one-liner. It was kind of like going out drinking, without the liquor.

Your thoughts drifted to the American poster boy; Soldier: 76. Sure, he was your superior, but so was Zaryanova, and even Mercy. Both of whom would share a slice-of-life type story if it came up. With your commanding officer, there weren’t any conversations besides the regular Drill Sargent insults, and your smart-arse comments. Would he be the only one around who would almost outright avoid you outside when he _had_ to talk to you? A small part of you hoped that wouldn’t happen. In a weird way, it felt like he could relate to you better, knew when to push you harder or to back off a bit. You shook you head, closing your eyes and sighing.

He was different to others that had trained you, sure. He treated you like he was supposed to, but there was a mutual respect there. The whole ‘I’m your superior but you’re still a human, kid.’ (why could you imagine him saying that?) You rub at your left wrist, feeling ghost pain rise up in an unexpected dull ache.

It was going to be one of those nights.

-

About two weeks into the hard and fast training Soldier: 76 had put you through since your apology in Winston’s lab, you found that you were allowed in the gun range. So far, you had been in there for about two hours. Mercy having just been by with a pair of hearing aids, only, to do the opposite to what you considered normal for your hearing. They adjusted automatically to the noises around you, gunshots scaling lower, and voices at a regular volume. You were immensely grateful to her for them, the sound of electronics in the area barely registering upon your ears now as you stood in front of a training bot that hovered above the ground.

You pulled the trigger to the rifle you had in your hands, apparently it was called a ‘Pulse Rifle’ and it had a far greater range to regular bullets. You looked at the training robot, some thirty yards away, you aimed, keeping your elbows from locking as you steadied the weapon. When you pulled the trigger, your arms moved, the force of the kick moving your hands, and the rest of you to the ground. The bullet missing the bot by a few metres, McCree chuckling to your right.

“You alright there darlin’?” He asked, a smirk in his voice as he watched you get back onto your feet.

“M’fine.” You brushed off your hands onto your pants. “Kick’s a bit bigger than expected.”

“Should’ve taken my advice.” He said, putting his cigar into the holder on an ashtray as he walked over. “It’s not enough to jimmy it against yer shoulder.”

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowing. “How’d y’mean, cowboy?”

“Well, missy,” He places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the bot again. He smelled of tobacco and stale liquor, whiskey mostly. “What it is yer doin’ is sitting the butt of the rifle against the wrong part of yer shoulder.”

You face the mark once again, eyebrows furrowing. “Okay, let me figure this out.”

You looked at the bot, adjusting your grip on the rifle as McCree stepped back. You moved the back end of the gun to sit better against your shoulder, and your side as you aimed it towards the bot and practice targets around it. You adjusted your stance to be more grounded, more centred as you pulled the trigger. The first few shots you tested missed. You readjusted and took to it again.

The shot hit.

Your eyebrows raised, and eyes widened as the training bots’ head exploded, the bot falling to the ground. Sure, you were adept at using weapons, or, at least those you could understand, but to actually hit a shot with this type of weapon? You were impressed with yourself. Your gaze turned to McCree, a smirk on his face.

“Looks like you’ve got the hang of it there all on yer own.”

“Yeah.” You breathed a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting it to just blow up like that though.”

“Best not stop while you’re getting the hang of it.”

You nodded, an affirmative sound coming from you as you turned to shoot, eyeing each target and shooting at it. Sure, anyone with a pair of hands could pick up a weapon and shoot, be it beginners luck or what have you, but it took training to get the amount of shots you were getting. You guessed it was perks of working your arse off when you were back home training or out on the field in a skirmish, that lead to your ability with this new kind of weapon.

A low whistle from beside you caught your attention, you lowered the weapon, looking for a way to reload it.

“Do I meet your expectations, darlin’?” you mocked his accent a little bit on the last word, raising an eyebrow as you found the release for the clip.

“Meetin’ and exceedin’. Didn’t think you’d actually start hittin’ the targets that quick.” He confessed, smiling at you when you looked at him.

“And they call you a quick draw.” You reloaded the rifle, looking back to the grounds as more targets rolled out. “Besides, I gotta set the bar somewhere.”

_Aim, shoot, breathe._

-

Winston’s conversation with Soldier: 76 was going no where near the plan he had for it. The anger in the soldier’s features was evident as he presented the news.

“You want to put her out on the _field_?” 76 asked incredulously, voice low and seething as he stared down the gorilla from behind his visor. “She hasn’t got the training, let alone the bearings.”

“She’s been improving steadily.” The tone of Winston’s voice suggesting that he was trying to be reasonable. “She holds tremendous tactical advantage. Look at this.”

 He looked at the live feed that was brought up. You were standing in the range, McCree smoking a cigar at the table nearby. You were handling a rifle half the size of you. When you took a shot and stumbled back, you turned, saying something to McCree, a smirk on your face as you adjusted your stance and took another shot. You hardly flinched with the kick, taking shot after shot.

“With her fighting for us, we could take care of Talon and its agents scattered over the globe. We could stop the _largest_ crime organisation in the _world_. You don’t think she has the training? Look at her marksman skills.”

He watched as you took calculated shot after shot, until you emptied the clip. You brought the rifle down to look for the release. Just how many weapons had you tested so far? He discounted the thought. It didn’t matter if you could carry a weapon and have complete accuracy. It didn’t matter if you continued to exceed his expectations. It didn’t convince him that it would be the same on the field, he didn’t want to be the cause of more needless death. Especially when you didn’t even belong here.

“Handling a weapon in a controlled environment means nothing. It’s _completely_ different on the field. Just because she’s able to stick something with a bullet doesn’t ensure she has the physical endurance required to take down Talon by any measure.”

“76,” Winston sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You know her, evidently more than I do, but the fact is that with her, we may have a chance at bringing peace again. _Making a difference_ again.”

“She hasn’t got the training.” He stated.

“I’m sorry, but the matter’s out of my hands. It’s already been decided.”

“By _who_?” His voice was stern as he folded his arms, you shouldn’t be on active duty. He watched as Winston brought up your file, or, what he had access to.

“These scans and diagrams show that she is physically stable. 76, Angela cleared her for active duty, everything in her files, from medical diagnosis to conversations they’ve had is strictly under Angela’s clearance.”

“You didn’t look into her files yourself?”

“Angela is a capable doctor. Her decisions have come to be an advantage to us more than once.” He takes her file from the display on his desk. “She will be accompanying you tomorrow. There isn’t any risk, the mission’s only reconnaissance anyway.”

“You’ll regret that decision when her blood’s spread across the pavement.” He said, standing and leaving Winston’s lab. He had preparations to reorder.

-

The next morning, you were guided to a hanger, located in a separated building from the rest of the complex. There were ACVs – Well, kind of. You could tell they were military vehicles, due to the reinforced tyres on most of them, the thick metal shell of them suggesting that the vehicles were built to be in a skirmish. You crouched to look at the wheels of one of the vehicles, your eyebrows furrowing. They weren’t touching the ground, and nothing was connected to them.

They had _hover cars._

“Stop gawking.” Soldier: 76 said, standing beside you. You got up, looking around the base again.

The hangar was big, and it seemed every car had its own designated space. Your eyes turned forward when you noticed movement, a pair of familiar faces standing by what looked to be a dropship. McCree and Tracer stood by the door. It brought a small comfort, having familiar faces on your first mission, even if this whole thing felt like a test.

You’d have to place trust into people you hadn’t long met, only one of which you had actually train with, and they would have to place their trust in you. You’d have to be ready for anything that came your way. It felt like déjà vu, like meeting your squad back home all over again. McCree like Jenks, the Texan boy with a sharp aim. Tracer like Mouse, resourceful and extremely quick. Then there was Soldier: 76, and yeah, he was kind of like Sprint, quiet and to the point, if he didn’t have the metal visor for a face, you were sure he’d always have a scowl on his face. The revelation had you feeling as though you were in good hands, and it made you want to me better.

Being in the army did that, you supposed, trusting your comrades faster than any regular person. They were the ones you had to trust like your life depended on it, because, your life did depend on it.

“Get in.” 76 ordered, Tracer and McCree walking up and into the dropship. You followed them up, abiding by his orders. He was the highest-ranking attendant to the mission as far as you knew, and thus, all orders he gave had to be followed.

You sat down across from Tracer, McCree next to her and the Commander next to you. You were nearest to the back of the vehicle, wondering what the mission would entail. You were told it was a simple reconnaissance, which explains why you were even allowed to toe in the direction of the mission in the first place. However, in your experience, nothing was ever _just_ recon. You were hoping it was an easy in-and-out mission. That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

Your thoughts were interrupted when the ship _lurched_ , lifting upwards before moving forwards. You looked forward to Tracer, a thought coming to mind that had your eyes widening, awe dawning on your face as she laughed.

“You have _hover cars._ ” You announced.

“Of course, love! They’ve been around for _ages._ ”

Setting foot on ground zero had an eerie feel to it, there weren’t any people around, not that you could see. You were on the outskirts of what you were told was a rundown city, which, in all honestly just looked like the grungy side of Sydney. There was graffiti over the walls over buildings, posters over noticeboards. The more you looked at the city, which was really more a town anyway, you found that it was fairly run down. A car had been stripped of parts nearby. Windows were broken, doors broken in.

“Group up over here.” 76 ordered, placing a bag of equipment down and crouching to unzip it.

You stood alongside your companions, McCree inspecting his revolver and flashbangs, Tracer adjusting her jacket before she took her weapons from Soldier, who unloaded a rather large rifle that matched what you were coming to assume was his unspoken aesthetic. He stood, turning as his gaze settled on you. He had another rifle in his hand, a scope sitting atop it.

“Your weapon.” He stated, holding it for you to take, which you did, pulling the strap over your shoulder, letting it rest comfortable. Your commanders gaze turned to face the three of you.

“This is a monitoring, _reconnaissance_ , mission. I don’t want buildings going down due to a lack of tactfulness, or lack of care.” He stated, turning his gaze to you for a moment as if _you_ would send a building to the ground. “We aren’t expecting any heat on this but be on your guard. Don’t get yourself killed.”

You nodded, watching as Tracer and McCree just listened along, probably used to this kind of quick, on the job briefing.

“Report back if you see anything. Tracer, you’re headed east. Watson,” His gaze was back on you for a moment. “East. McCree and I will head through the middle. Remember to use your coms. Move out.”

From there you spread out, taking the east side as you were instructed. You appreciated the fact that you were given all the information you needed to know and weren’t expected to know when and where everything was. It gave you a sense that you were still part of the team despite the obvious difference in authority. You crouched at the corner of a building, looking around before heading inside to start clearing it, attempting to find any information that could’ve lead to the call to come out in the middle of nowhere.

You ducked through a kitchen, dirty dishes still in the sink. A teddy bear siting beside a highchair. You worked through clearing each building you could get to on the way towards the east side, not spending too much time in a building; just enough to clear it before moving on. There were a few stores that you cleared, the one you were clearing now had a door siting ajar, leading to what was probably the office. You walked over, pointing your gun towards the door. You toed it open with your boot, scanning the room.

You had to turn away.

A family had been killed in there, mother father, and two little boys. The dried blood on the wall hand your grip on your rifle firm as you worked to clear the rest of the store before moving on, only pausing to take a lone roll of duct tape from a shelf. Never knowing when you might need it as you pushed down the failure and thoughts of being so useless that you hadn’t come at an earlier time to save the people in the store. Not that there was anything you _could’ve_ done.

It felt the same, each building was empty of anything interesting, unless you counted the body count. A common theme was occurring to you as you worked your way through the buildings. It had to be an act of terrorism, or a measure of control that had left the few bodies you found, other places with a spray-painted sigil of a barn owl. You found your way outside, weaving past bins and cars that had been stripped for parts. This town was a horror show put on display, and you had to _focus_.

You were probably at it for about an hour now. You were growing concerned as you searched, you hadn’t received word from the others. You reached up to your ear and pressed the button on your communications device.

“Commander, status. Over.” You spoke as you cleared the street of any possible signs of movement. All you got was static.

_Shit._

“ _Commander,_ status report- -” The sound of distant gunshots ringing in the distance caught your attention.

You hadn’t been _expecting_ resistance on this mission. The line was dead on your commanders’ end. You had no way of contacting him. You made your way towards the sound, creeping behind bin, cars, even fences to find cover. You tried your coms again.

“McCree, do you read me. Over.” Static.

You got closer to the gunshots, loud enough to tell you that the fight was going on very much nearby. You swept the area before going into the closest building. A hotel. It would make for a good vantage point. You had your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, clearing the open halls as you took the stairs, running up them as quietly as you could manage. If you could make it to one of the top levels, you’d have an almost perfect vantage point given the heights of the other buildings.

You heard shouting in the street, someone was down there. You ran into the closest room you could get to, kicking the door shut behind you. The empty living room of an apartment facing you, everything set out as though a family had lived there. You jump over a couch, rolling to land against the far wall of the room, adjusting your rifle so you could see through the scope. You sat up, using the scope to look out the window, attempting to pinpoint the location of the skirmish.

You look over the streets, your gaze turning to find movement towards the north-west. You moved your rifle to the window and crawled over to the next window, not wanting to take the chance if there was a sniper. You looked through the next window, scope showing you that the boys; McCree and Soldier: 76 were outnumbered, a group of mercenaries facing them with what was the equivalent of automatic weapons. You tried to get a clear shot, they moved behind a building, out of your range.

You groaned and hurried out the door, back down the stairs. You needed to make clear shots or you would give away your cover. You almost tripped on the last staircase, catching yourself on the rail as you made your way through the foyer, legs carrying you with an ease as you cleared corners and roads on your way to a closer building. Your eyes found a higher building as you heard how loud the skirmish was. It was rather close. You sprinted towards the building, ducking and weaving behind anything and everything in the environment you could find as you got to the entrance.

The large broken window was enough for you to jump through and find the stairs going up. You heard voices as you climbed the stairs, they sounded like mercenaries. You made your way up the stairs, careful not to make an unnecessary amount of noise. You followed the sound of the voices as you made your way up the staircase, to the fourth floor. They were being rather loud.

Kicking open the already ajar door, you were met with a group of three surprised mercenaries. You aimed at the first, the one on the right, aiming and shooting him as your muscle memory of how to operate in the situation took control. He dropped to the floor with a thud, the one on the right was a girl, her face looking young, but not for long. The middle one had scrambled for his gun. He aimed for you, but the shot was too far to the left, whizzing past your ear. You aimed and shot him, the bullet sinking into his shoulder. Gritting your teeth, you took the second shot in a rapid succession.

Dead.

You stepped inside the room, which was wrecked. Furniture and miscellaneous items scattered everywhere. Jumping over a couch and near missing some glass bottles, the smell of old, and new alcohol mixing in the air was enough to make your stomach leave you feeling nauseous at the smell. You made your way to the window hoping you weren’t too late as you set yourself up, aiming.

Looking down at the field, you saw that there were at least six targets on the ground, shooting at your comrades, another two in the lower level of a building. You looked up at the top of the building, a sniper with a long pony tail on the roof. Setting up the shot, you took a deep breath in, squeezing the trigger. The sound of your shot was like lightning cracking as the bullet you sent her way missed your intended target.

The only bright side was that her scope was broken; a heavy disadvantage in the field of ranged targets. Your attention turned down to the heat on the lower floors of the building the sniper was on. As you ducked out of the way, you felt a hot pressure graze across your arms, looking down, you saw that you were bleeding, a hole now in your jacket sleeve. You looked it over, hissing in pain, the blood not enough to worry about, you pushed your sleeve up you arm so that it could soak up more blood that would no doubt seep from your arm.

You chanced another look at the battlefield below you on the ground. Your concern not only on the talented sniper you would have to deal with, but onto your team who was being pinned down. You saw a black figure down on the ground now, a white face under his hood. You didn’t have time to think about it as a bullet collided with the brickwork at the height of your head. You swore, ducking behind the wall further. You just caught the flash of blue on the ground, a British voice calling out, signalling Tracer’s arrival to the unexpected party.

Perhaps you could use her arrival to your advantage? You looked around the room, you took note of the electronics from earlier, the nails that were sticking into the carpet and various other seemingly useless items. An idea struck you, effectively lighting a fire under you as you took to the floor, taking wiring, nails, a liquor bottle and an empty soup can, as well as the roll of duct tape you found in one of the stores earlier in your search. You crafted a ‘home-grown’ grenade, all kinds of shrapnel put inside of a device that could very easily explode. You only had one chance at seeing if it would work.

Turning to the window you saw that the figure in black had the attention of your comrades, the other targets busily reloading their weapons. It wasn’t that far, maybe fifty metres. If you could throw it at the right angle it would land and (hopefully) explode at the feet of the enemy. You stood behind the cover of the brick wall, calculating the trajectory of your _very_ dangerous concoction.

You took a breath as you stepped out of your cover, throwing the grenade and watching it’s trajectory, landing a meter out of proportion. The confusion of the targets on the ground matched your own disappointment as your contraption did nothing, your intended targets inspecting it. It was only the span of a few seconds, but the resulting explosion in a flurry of glass, nails and liquor left a sadistic, morbid side of you satisfied with your work. The screams of pain, and the sight of fire catching to the clothes of the targets below left you – wincing? Why was there a pressure in your abdomen? You move behind the brick wall, looking down as you lean backwards. There was blood seeping over your shirt. You placed your hand firmly over the wound as you pushed yourself forward, towards the door. The crimson covering your hands a result of the wound and your physical strain as you coughed, placing a hand on the wall, blood slick hand slipping as your shoulder slammed into the wall.

It _hurt._

You clenched your jaw and kept moving, towards the stairs. You knew it was a bad idea, but you started running when you saw the stairs, bringing your hand up to your coms. The resulting static signalling that they were still cut. _Fuck._

Your blood pumped faster, your legs moving overly quickly as you ran down the flights of stairs. Warm liquid cooling against your hand, leaking over your arm. It hurt worse than when your hand was broken, or the time you were beaten for a long close-minded belief.

Your feet lost traction on the ground as you tripped, hands flying to the hand rail, your body slipping and rolling down the stairs into the main foyer of the building you were in. The gunshots outside didn’t hold as many numbers, it left you guessing that the targets in your sights had been neutralized. It was a fleeting, yet comforting thought as you pushed yourself up on slippery, sticky, and crimson covered arms. A harsh cough sending more blood and saliva over the floor. Your blood quite literally starting the paint the floor. Your skin felt flushed with heat. It confused you, you were losing blood weren’t you? Fear made its presence known around your rapidly beating heart.

You didn’t want to die.

You caught a glimpse of bright red outside, pulling yourself to get closer. You groaned with the effort of moving, the pain causing tears to spring to your eyes. You squeezed them shut, taking as large a breath as you could, hoping he’d be able to hear you.

“ _I need a medic!_ ”

 

The sound of your pained voice just barely reached Soldier: 76’s ears. He didn’t want you out on the field in the first place, and yet, here you were. The explosion had certainly caught his attention, had you been caught in the blast? He didn’t bet on it, your voice coming from behind him. He shot his pulse rockets at the man before him, now known as _Reaper_ before turning around, sprinting towards the building as Tracer and McCree distracted him. He looked around for you, unsure of what he’d find, especially from a kid who had told him explicitly that they had _wanted_ to die.

He stepped into the foyer of an apartment building, heavy boot falls pounding against the pavement. He saw blood covering the floor and the sound of raspy, shortened breathing coming from the corner, near the staircase. He jogged over, finding you leaning against the wall, your eyes dull. He was over to your side in less than a second, the recognition on your face only followed by coughs that had your shoulders shaking, and blood pouring over your chin.

Soldier: 76 leaned over you, putting his arms under you, one under your knees, the other across your back, his rifle against his back and he lifted you upwards, turning to get back to the dropship. He could hear your shallow breathing, could see the tears that collected at the corners of your eyes as you leaned your head against his shoulder, biting into your hand when he headed for the door, just barely muffling the whimpered groan that made its way up through your throat. He made a mental note to figure out why you did that when you were safe, back at the facility.

“I know you’re lying down, kid. But don’t fall asleep just yet.” He managed to saw as he called for an E-VAC.

 

There was a set of hands on you, a gruff voice talking to you, a hard surface beneath you. Above you was the roof of the dropship, the face of McCree looking down at you with concern hair falling around his face. Pain was shooting through your side, the wound at your shoulder doing the amount of a paper-cut in comparison. You could feel your eyes closing, eyelids heavy. Why did you bother trying to stay awake? It was so hard. Wouldn’t it be _easier_ to just rest? A wet hand met your face, turning your gaze to a red lit visor, something sticky attaching to your face.

“Stay awake for me, [Y/N]. Don’t fall asleep.” The man in front of you said, almost pleading undertones in his voice. Despite his robotic face, he looked how you imagined your perpetually disappointed guardian angel to appear, if you had one. Maybe he spent his days drinking? You didn’t have time to entertain the thought, a retching sound hit your ears as you jerked, a splash of saliva and blood hitting the floor, doing nothing to relieve the pain in your abdomen and chest. You couldn’t _breathe_.

“Bloody hell - why does she _sound_ like that?” a British voice asked.

“Punctured diaphragm, collapsed lung. We’re going to have to stabilise it ourselves.” The white-haired man said, taking some type of tool from a first aid kit.

A hand took yours, a flask of something put to your lips as you were made drink whatever burning liquid was in it. You thought you heard something like ‘ _just squeeze if it hurts Darlin’_ ’ before immense pain hit your side, the ability to breathe becoming slightly easier, something putting pressure on your lungs as the hand in yours was set in a death grip. Weren’t you supposed to be good at this?

You felt hot, what was the temperature? Did it make a difference? The pain wasn’t so intense, so it had to be a good thing, right? There was more talking, but you didn’t pay much attention. Couldn’t pay attention. It felt like you were under water, everything blurry. You could feel your vocal cords vibrating in your throat, suggesting that you were speaking, or groaning – _something_ that you couldn’t register. You felt hot, why was it so damn hot? An intense wave of tiredness washed over you, a fleeting memory of napping in the summer passed behind your eyes. Were you allowed to sleep?

 

Eight hours later, Doctor Mercy Ziegler was looking at you perplexed, her confusion evident. Your wounds weren’t as bad as the amount of blood on your clothing, nor Soldier: 76’s. You had only needed a few stitches and gauze, but only because she had to take _out_ whatever was used to stabilize your lung in the first place. It was quite the ideal, leaving you feeling stupid for wasting resources that someone else may have needed. But, in a way, it was the lack of care you required that scared you in the whole situation. Shouldn’t you be dead?

“You _were_ shot, yes?” She asked, for the fourth time in the last hour to which you nodded yet again. You hadn’t understood it either and you didn’t like the alienated feeling it gave you in a room with both sets of eyes on you. “Hm. And there’s no extensive damage… Perhaps... no, that’s not it..”

“It’s not, _what?_ ” You asked, gaze on the doctor who was looking back through your files. Mumbling to herself about charts and scans.

“An effect of your travel in time and space.” She said, the gears of her mind churning, you could almost see the gears clicking into place.

“So, what? I get super powers now?” You asked, a sarcastic edge to your tone.

“No, not ‘super powers’. However, it seems likely that you may have gained some physical abilities –  aside from the mental effects. Such as your apparent regeneration.” Her eyes were on your wounds. “I will have to and this hypothesis to your medical file.”

“So… I’m free to go? Just like that?” You asked, standing up and pulling your shirt down, Doctor Ziegler nodded.

“There isn’t much I can do for you now, other than suggest you take things easy and _rest_.” She had a rather thoughtful tone to her voice, profound confusion evident. “We may need to run another scan.”

“You’ll want to talk to Winston about that first.” You stated, seeing him as the head of all things to do with scanning and any other scientific developments in the complex.

“Yes, yes. I will.” She dismissed, waving her hands to signal that you could leave.

You walked out of the med bay, seeking a much-needed shower, hoping to get clean and release the tension in your muscles. Walking presenting a dull, but manageable ache as the stitches pulled on your side. The universe left you with more questions than answers. Was the mission a success? Was the point even surveillance? Who were the enemy? Did anyone else get injured?

What was with the sympathetic looks you got when you talked about you home country?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading!  
> \- T.R. <3
> 
> P.S. I have school until the end of 2018 so chapters may be a little slow in updating! Thank you all for your love and support! More great things headed your way!
> 
> Edited 13.03.2018 - Over 11,000 words this chapter!


	6. Australia - Rain On A Tin Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMPnv6AXDp4
> 
> It brought a grin to your face, you loved that sound.

“For anyone just tuning in, annyeong! I’m D.Va, with me is a special guest, a new friend of mine. This is Watson!” Hana announced, a wide smile on her face as a new flood of comments appeared at the side of the holographic computer screen. ‘Watson’ appeared to be the preferred household name used to address you now, even if most people knew your real name.

Siting with Hana to play games wasn’t a challenge by any means, and you had promised her yesterday that you would join her before training with Soldier: 76 in the early hours of the morning. Turns out, she was _incredibly_ popular online, so much so that, according to several comments that she gushed over, many viewers set alarms and reminders so that they could tune in live to see what she was up to.

The sheer concept of not only having such a heavy online following whilst still maintaining her position in the military was astounding on its own. What had completely blown you away was when she announced that she was able to earn a _living_ off the internet – you hadn’t thought it was possible.

You looked over the bright screen, controller siting more comfortable in your hands than it had in your previous gaming endeavours. The comment thread rolling quickly as Hana spoke to the commenters, answering questions while you guided the go-kart in the race you were participating in. The broadcast bringing live and, mostly positive feedback. You turned the playable character’s vehicle, driving around a narrow bend in the race, hitting what looked like a blue, mutant fish head. The kart spinning for a few seconds as AI controlled karts zipped past before you could continue with the race.

You didn’t have much skill in terms of video games by any means, but neither Hana, nor her viewers seemed to mind as you played. As far as you knew anyway, you weren’t reading the comments, Hana monitoring them as you played.

“Watson, Samx19 wants to know if you like playing ‘ _Blizz-kart Racer’,_ they also want you to know that it’s _‘refreshing to watch a player improve as they play_.’” Hana relayed to you.

“Uh – it’s a go-kart game?” You started, eyebrows furrowing, “It kind of reminds me of ‘ _Pole Position_ ’ to be honest with you. Only, the controls are different and you’re able to throw things at other racers.”

You heard Hana giggle as you entered your final lap of the map. “No one knows what that game even _is_.”

Her comment had a small smile tug at your lips, of course they wouldn’t know; it was a 1980’s arcade game.

“I think someone just searched it up – hold on a second guys.” She brought up the link from one of the comments, a picture and short description of the game popping up.

“Woah! That’s so _retro_!” She looked at the screen, reading over some more comments. “OxTrot-63 wants you to know they think it’s cool you managed to play the game, Watson. Apparently, it’s not available online anymore. Oh! And they love your accent.”

“That’s just someone being nice. I used to play all kinds of ‘retro’ games as a kid.” You shrugged, overtaking one of the go-karts. “I was as bad at them then as I am now actually.”

“Aw, come on! You’re really good at this game.”

“For a ‘noob’.” You told her, finishing what most others would probably already think.

“You’re improving!” She declared, almost defensive over your progress. Her gaze flicked down to the comments. “Everyone here agrees with me – some are even sending you donations!”

You listened as she rattled off increasingly strange usernames, thanking the viewers for sending in donations, her glowing smile met with enthusiasm. Your own smile, albeit small, spreading over your face. You came third.

“It’s great that they’re supporting you, D.Va. I’m glad I found some time to come and hang out with you.” You turned to her, the winning character animation appearing over the screen. Her eyes filled with joy as she looked at your points.

“GG!” She shouted, her smile turning to a grin as she looked at you. “You’re doing really well!”

“It’s alright.” You shrugged, looking at the time.

You had been streaming with Hana for around two hours, and you were running late for training with Soldier: 76. He’d no doubt make you suffer for that, yet, you didn’t find yourself caring if he’d up the intensity. It was a problem for future [Y/N] to sort out. You stood up from your chair, stretching, your arms popping at the elbow and shoulder joints.

“Well, not that I don’t love coming by and playing games, but I gotta go before I lose my extra life to the commander.” You looked to the camera, showing both Hana and you in the shot. You waved at the camera, and therefore, the viewers as you heard giggling.

“Sure thing! Make sure you meet up with us for dinner though, okay?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you this arvo.” You smiled at her.

Slapping your hands together and bumping your fists, you went on your way. Hana taking the stream over again, the controller in her hands. You picked up your boots on your way out of her bedroom door. Headed for the training hall. Your steps light as you set yourself into a jog, not wanting to be any later than you already were. Your pace only slowed when you encountered McCree in the hall, your pace and sock-clad feet not going unnoticed by the cowboy.

“Where’re you goin’ in such a hurry, darlin’?” He called as you approached him.

“Training hall.” You smiled up at him, noticing the shift in his demeanour when you did so. “My arse is grass if I’m late!”

“Weren’t you shot two days ago?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing, your smile widening.

“Yeah! But I didn’t die – so I’m getting back into it.” He seemed a little worried by that, taking your arm to stop you in the middle of the hall. The smell of fresh gunpowder adding to his regular scent.

“You were _shot_ and yer still going back, after _one day_ of rest?”

“That’s right.” You pulled up your shirt. “Look, I’ve just got a gauze pad sittin’ there now. It’s really nothing to worry about.”

“Nothin’ t’worry about?” he looked down at the white patch attached to your abdomen. “How the hell did ya achieve that?”

“There’s way too much science involved for me to even _begin_ to understand, cowboy.” You took your arm from his grasp, shrugging as you pointed down the hall. “I’d hate to leave you confused – actually, that’s a lie, I’d love to – but I’ve got somewhere I gotta be.”

You lightly slapped his shoulder before continuing you way down the hall, hearing him yell ‘Good luck’ after you as you turned a corner, going past the firing range. A small smile resting on your features, it had been a good morning so far.

You were at the training hall moments later, the idea of being put through another day of rigorous training not bothering you as much as it previously had. The training was nothing if not efficient. It had increased your stamina so much already, coupled with your strength training under Zaryanova, you were confident that you had been improving steadily.

Walking in, you saw two figures standing in the middle of the hall, only 76 being familiar to you. You sat down on the ground to put your boots on, inspecting the unfamiliar person. They wore a hood, long jacket coming down to rest at their ankles. The shoes they wore forming to their feet in a way that suggested they were sturdy. The ends of their pants coming down, looking as though they had been fitted under their knees. A visor rested over their face, the appearance starkly contrasting the one 76 wore.

“Jeez, is it bring your mask to work day?” You mumbled as you pulled the laces to your boots, making sure they were tight, yet comfortable. The pair approached you.

“This is Shrike.” Your commander announced as you laced up your boot and stood. “There’s been a change in todays’ regime. It’s time you learned what you’re dealing with.”

You looked between them, holding your hand out for Shrike to take, their hand holding yours in a firm handshake. Both were taller than you, it made you feel small. You straightened your shoulders.

“People call me Watson.” You introduced, letting go of their hand.

“You have much to learn.” They – _she_ – said. “This way.”

You nodded and followed the pair, out of the training hall, towards the lower floors of the complex – the one underground. Your eyebrows furrowed, what was it they supposedly had to ‘teach’ you? Was it something to do with who you encountered a few days ago? If so, why were they important – were they a threat to the peace?

You followed them down the stairs and to a door that looked like a heavy vault entrance. Soldier: 76 entered a long code, one that you wouldn’t have been able to memorise if you tried. The door opened with the low sound of air compressors pushing the door open. You looked inside as the pair in front of you walked inside. There were files upon files, news-papers, and many of them having a big red ‘ _CLASSIFIED_ ’ stamped on them. The last six decades must’ve been busy, you noted. A table sat in the middle, it was square and had a pair of chairs sitting at it across from each other. A holographic screen booting up at one end of the room.

“Take a seat.” 76 told you, gesturing to the chairs at the table. He was already sorting through some news articles.

You walked over and sat down in the closest chair, your knee bouncing as soon as you were seated. It was unnerving, the way the mood seemed to change, it felt heavy now, something was amiss.

“So, you had something you wanted me to know?” It was more a statement than a question, but you didn’t want the room to fall silent when you could be getting whatever you were supposed to be taking note of out of the way.

“It was suggested that you be informed of what you’ve missed.” He stated, pushing a pile of news articles your way. “In case your situation… becomes permanent.”

Your eyebrows drew together as you looked at him. Permanent? They really thought that there was no way home then, huh? You looked down at the articles in front of you, considering it intel you’d probably need either way. No matter the odds, you needed to stick to the end goal – getting home.

_‘Omnica Corp Leading Tech in Positive New Direction_ ’

_‘New Prototype to Be Released: OmniRobot’_

_‘Omnium to be released 2026’_

Your eyebrows furrowed as you read over the headlines. The articles weren’t of much help either, they weren’t making a whole lot of sense.

“What’s… Omnica Crop?” You pick up the article in front of you, looking at the paper.

“A corporation focused on developing Omnics.” Shrike commented, your gaze turning to her. “They specialized in many kinds of weapons and domestic technologies.”

You nodded and scanned the article, it seemed as though the Omnica Corporation was, in part, responsible for the golden age of technology. Technologies of all kinds were developed in a rush to make the world _better,_ more convenient to live in. Each company mentioned as shareholders, or in a way connected to the company seemed to be a part of developing it.

“So…” You sighed, eyebrows furrowing, leaning your chin against your hand. “There’s another race for new tech that went on, and this was part of it?”

“That’s right.” She said, pointing to the other articles. “Technology over the last century has been rapid in its’ development, but far more accelerated over the last forty or so years.”

“So… it’s the ‘ _Back to the Future’_ I was expecting back in 2017 then?”

The pair looked at each other, and in that moment, you felt much older.

“Heh… Reference for another time I guess… Anyway, we have the new tech race. What else do I need to know?”

Soldier: 76 collected the news articles into a pile, placing them down the table to make space as he brought up some information on the holographic screen. It was yet another article, but it had more pictures, and even some video reports. The title read ‘ _Horizon Lunar Colony.’_

“Are… Are we on the moon? – uh – humanity I mean.” You clarified, taking in both the name, and the first few pictures.

“Yes. But the colony’s run by Gorillas and apes now.” 76 was the one to answer your question this time, breaking from his stoic silence. Your eyebrows furrowed as you read over the article.

“Was it just to live on the moon? What happened to mars?” Your gaze flicked up to them.

“Mars was too expensive to transport materials.” Shrike tells you, gesturing to the screen. “Athena, show file X7GS-5 on the Horizon Lunar Colony.”

“ _Yes, Shrike._ ” Athena’s voice came through the holographic screen, photographs appearing of the base. The first few you looked at were the construction, and the scientists. You looked over them as the images lowered in frequency, time stamps becoming farther apart.

“And, you said it’s run by gorillas? Like… Winston?”

“He was part of the experiment, yes.” Your eyes widened as you looked at her.

“Winston was on the _moon_? Part of all of that?” Shrike nods and looks at the photograph of two apes looking at a security camera.

“He has been through much.” She sighs, the only hint to it being the rise and fall of her shoulders. “He arrived back on earth just before things became… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Your gaze flicked between them as you grew confused. “What do you mean?”

“ _The Horizon Lunar Colony focused on: Space exploration, and habitation of interplanetary spaces. The Colony focused its efforts on genetic modification as part of its secondary objectives._ ” Athena informed. “ _In 2064, Specimen 28 arrived on earth as the only subject non-adversely effected by the therapy provided by staff._ ”

You mulled over the information, processing the fact that it was only about twelve years ago that Winston had come back from practically a lifetime on the moon. He certainly didn’t seem like he had spent time up there with his aggressive brothers. Maybe he got passed it, spending a decade back on earth. With the experience he had it was almost a miracle that he didn’t end up stuck with the rest of them on the moon.

“Okay – so let me get this straight… Winston was on the moon, and The Omnica Company… Sorry, Omnica _corporation_ were making robots, no, _Omnics_. Yeah?” Your eyes scanned between the two masked individuals, both of which were agreeing with the facts you simplified.

Your eyes fell to the gap. These were articles, yes, but there was about forty years-worth of history between them. You glanced at the article about Omnium, which turned out to be just another name for the manufacturing of the Omnics under complete artificial intelligence.

“What happened in the middle here? With the Omnium plants. I mean, I’m kind of expecting _I-Robot_.” You lean back as you watch the pair glance between each other, a tension growing in the air. You could almost cut it with a knife, as the usual lightness common to your home country gave way to your sense of being completely serious. You quirked an eyebrow. “What? What happened?”

“The Omnic Crisis…” Shrike started, in what you could tell was her filling in 76’s role as informant. “It was an unpredictable event.”

A manila folder was dropped in front of you, the large red ink glaring at you as your fingers traced the side to untangle string from around it. You opened it, a hint of curiosity taking root within you. The contents of the folder were thick, the time stamp revealing that the crisis started around thirty years into your future.

“If I had to take a crack at it, I’d say the government but…” You placed your hand on the stack of information in front of you, index finger keeping your place in the centre of a paragraph. “How’d it start?”

“The omnium plants were shut down.” Shrike informed you, her voice calm. “They were decommissioned from the corporation-“

“But what does that have to do with the Crisis?” Shrike held up her hand, effectively telling you to _shut up_.

“The plants reactivated, self-sustaining code launching a Omnic legion of militarised robots. Slaughtering thousands. Both military and civilian.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at Shrike, technology that had the ability to not only turn itself back up, but launch _military operations_ was simply unheard of. You assumed it was on a global scale, meaning that homes, even whole _cities_ were possibly lost. You looked at Shrike, setting your shoulders, you wanted to hear more.

“How did you combat this? I mean, it’s obvious you won, to some extent at least.”

“ _The Omnic Crisis was an event that no single country was equipped to fight. No one military could permanently shut down a single omnium. The adaptability of robots, once celebrated by humanity, had become a tactical nightmare. Fought by piloted Mechs, the countries of the world looked to professional gamers such as Hana ‘D.Va’ Song, Craig ‘Link’ Smith, and Sara ‘M.Use’ Velden. Their unparalleled reflexes allowed them to pilot the mechs and help turn the tide.”_ Athena’s voice came from the monitor at the end of the short room.

“Hold on. All I’m hearing is that the future is one big movie reference. I mean, come on-” You looked between them, gesturing to the monitor, “- piloted mechs? What is this? _Pacific Rim_?”

Again, they shared a look.

“Watson,” Shrike started, “I understand this is a lot to take in, but the history of the world isn’t a joke, or a reference to a film.”

“Oh, no, of course it’s hilarious. It’s the biggest joke on the planet.” You chided looking at the images Athena was showing on the monitor. You saw the Overwatch logo, people looking on in fear of what you assumed were one of the many omnics. Feeling the stares of the two around you, and sensing that your smart mouth would get you into trouble, you decided to change the topic.

“So, Overwatch was created during the crisis. What happened?”

“Overwatch as it was before,” Soldier: 76 spoke, voice holding hints of frustration, “was supposed to bring hope and a time of peace. The Omnic Crisis slaughtered millions, and they blamed the organisation trying to help.”

You watched as more images appeared on the screen, articles even of overwatch being considered a hoax, hiding information, even corrupt. It made you rather upset, knowing their side of the story and that _of course_ the public was willing to jump the gun without context. Hell, they had their own _Captain America_ and they wanted to tear him down?

“And you were shut down? For a while. I mean, you’re running now, spread a bit thin maybe for what should be the talk of just about every city.” You looked to Shrike, and then to Soldier, they had grown quiet.

“Alright, so you survived the backlash then?”

Shrike placed her hand on your shoulder. “Overwatch was shut down. But the work here is good.”

“So-” you gestured to the monitor, “-this is all that’s left? All anyone knows? That the… Strike Commander died, and overwatch is just… Finished?”

You watch as she shakes her head. So, Overwatch was illegal, only due to the United Nations, acting as much like a tool that you remembered. Your gaze turned back to the screen. Countries had populations thinned, if not destroyed, from Korea, to Russia, hell, even the United States.

An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine like an iron nail scraping against a corrugated fence. There was only one country you hadn’t heard or read during the conversation. Your eyes flick to your commander. He was an honest and blunt man, you could trust him to tell you exactly what happened.

“Sir, in all of this… Where’s Australia?”

You never knew your home to walk away from a war if your allies were part of it. If the Crisis really had affected the entire globe, where the hell did you stand in all of it? Your expression changed from mere curiosity to an amalgamated form of worry and frustration as your commander sighed, the only indication being his shoulders rising and falling. You felt Shrike squeeze your shoulder, the gesture supposed to be reassuring.

“Watson, Australia survived the Crisis, they were a significant help in turning the tides, being resourceful as they are.” Shrike started, turning your attention to her.

You nodded along, your eyebrows furrowing, of course your country would get involved. They wouldn’t just stand out of something, be it their business or not. There was a but in there somewhere though, and you were afraid that it could be worse than you thought.

“After the war, your government gifted the omnium plant and a significant amount of land to the Omnics. Soon enough… The Australian Liberation Front was formed, and war hit your country in its own way.”

“No.” You found yourself shaking your head, a disbelieving, yet frustrated smile stretching across your face. “Australia hasn’t had a war physically hit their shores since the Darwin bombings.”

“Watson, in your time, maybe that was true. But now, your country started its own battle.” You feel her hand move to your arm, her head tilted in a way that no doubt meant she was looking at you in sympathy, pity even. You cast your eyes downwards.

“…what happened?” You were hesitant to ask, but you needed to know. There needed to be a chance that your home was still safe. Still alive and running.

“The rebel group sabotaged the omnium’s fusion core… It exploded. Australia is a radiated wasteland, the people that live there call themselves _Junkers_ , Watson. As far as I know, you’re probably the only one left who calls themselves an Australian.”

_Bullshit. It had to be. It wasn’t gone. It couldn’t be… could it?_

Your home… A wasteland. You watched as your hands clenched. They wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – be that stupid, could they? Were they really that selfish, over some _land?_ Was it really that unliveable that they couldn’t be called Australian? You shouldn’t have asked. You didn’t want to be the only one left. You didn’t want to believe it. Australia, just… gone. Replaced with a post-apocalyptic knock-off that was barely worth mentioning.

You wanted to disappear. Didn’t want the pair of eyes you felt on you now as your fingers dug into your palms, pushing against your thighs and arms trembling in anger. Your country was so _stupid_. How could they make a decision like that? Ruin so many lives? _Parasites_ the lot of them. If what you were being told was true, then your sister had no hope of being alive. There was no way you could go home and see your childhood house if you couldn’t get back to 2017.

There was no way you could hear a kookaburra laugh before a storm, nor would you find cicada shells at the end of the summer. New generations wouldn’t experience what it was like to have to sprint across boiling concrete because they forgot shoes. They couldn’t just sit in their backyard with a campfire to bring them light near a tent used as anything from a castle or even a spaceship. There would be no running across the footpath covered in leaves to hear them _crunch_ ing under their feet.

You were the only one left. The only Australian to know what it was like to experience the beauty and dangers of Australia without the fear of becoming radiated – the only one to be called an Australian with any ounce of _pride_. You were the only one, and you hated it. You couldn’t just be the only one left. Not like this. Not with everything so blatantly stripped away so quickly, not with everything suddenly crashing around you. There was so much left of home you hadn’t gotten the chance to see. That you had promised Maris you would see when you got home.

It was all their fault. It was the fault of the idiots down in Australia, the momentously stupid decision that you made to join the army. The decision you made to go into the room with that giant piece of junk that someone would have the gall to call _science._

Your throat felt painfully tight, vision blurring. You couldn’t blame them. Not really. You probably would’ve done the same thing to protect your country. Coming out of a war immediately followed by handing those who still looked like the enemy not only land, but the very infrastructure that helped start the war? It wasn’t fair to blame them. It wasn’t but you couldn’t help being angry. Couldn’t help wanting to throw the stupidly brave idiots through the closest wall.

You leant your head against the desk, taking a breath that trembled through you. Breathing out sounded like a pathetic whimper, and really, it was. More tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth, you couldn’t stop. The tears were falling from your eyes, your shoulders were shaking. You didn’t want to cry in front of them. Didn’t want to be anything but a good soldier standing in line with the rest of them.

But you couldn’t. Your body wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t in control – you weren’t able to stop. Everything felt like it was crashing down around you without settling. A sob broke through and jolted your shoulders. It felt like you were choking on the dust of your memories with the realization that there wasn’t a soul that could truly know what you were talking about, not really.

You understood, you really did. You understood why they did it. You _understood_ why people in the halls gave you sympathetic looks when you mentioned home or even spoke to people who hadn’t heard you speak before. What you didn’t understand was why is _hurt_. It hurt so much. Your heart hurt, aching, constricting with each beat. It felt broken. _You_ felt broken.

Another sob broke through you, the person, Shrike, pulling you to her chest, one hand stroking your head with what you could only describe as a mother’s touch. Of course it was Shrike, your commander probably didn’t know how to cope with anything other setting than anger or calm. He didn’t seem to hold any sympathy towards you either. Not that you minded, it was better than this pity.

 

Soldier: 76 excused himself from the room when you started sobbing, the effort of trying to hold yourself together and ultimately failing burned into his mind like a brand. It was _haunting_. To see someone who had held it together for the last two months with only a relatively small outburst was startlingly impressive.

He couldn’t shake the way you imploded, shoulders hunching as you had bent forward to lean against the table, hair falling around your face. The way you shook with anger and refused to accept what was _supposed_ to be your future instead of world history. In a word, he would only describe it as shattering. Clinging onto the idea that everything was fine, up until the last moment when you broke.

It made him wonder if the way you held yourself, standing almost at perfect attention all the time, pushing yourself past the point even he thought you were supposed to break. If your determined gaze when you sparred with him on the mat, the one-liners and apparent humour you displayed even if you couldn’t keep yourself upright, hell, even your smile.

It rivalled the damn sun when you were in the company of the younger agents sharing and creating memories and all he could think of now was if it was all a façade. If you would even grow to like it here or if it was a front put on until you could go back.

The sound of your despair fell upon his ears again. He could _feel_ your sorrow vicariously through the sound of the emotion you seemed to have no control over anymore. The sound of your broken sobs and barely coherent cries of ‘ _it’s not fair!_ ’ affecting him more than he liked. He turned on his heels, walking down the hall, not one to dwell on emotions, nor wanting his own memories to rise to the surface. He didn’t find comfort in the way they set on his shoulders, nor the way it made swallowing harder, and so he refused to acknowledge them.

It wasn’t until he found himself at the top of the first flight of stairs that he found a pang of guilt settling against him for being an accomplice of your grief. Ungracefully tossing you the history of the world unflinchingly, and not a word as to why, leaving the explanation to both Ana and Athena. He was guilty of giving you no sympathy in the harshness of the world that he lived through, bringing to you like a ton of bricks when you took the operation of Overwatch with such understanding.

The challenges you saw and the revolts that Athena had shown you in images from the press left you not with a glorifying awe, nor anger towards the actions of his younger self. Your eyes held all the _understanding_ that he had wished for from the public years ago. A patient understanding that knew overwatch as a group of people doing their best, one that left him with a guilty conscience as he didn’t allow you a shred of the same attitude that you so willingly passed onto them.

It surprised him. How was it that a young woman from the past could show such understanding towards something you hadn’t lived through? Something you could have faced if you hadn’t wound up here? It was more than they – _he_ – deserved.

-

You felt a headache siting behind your eyes, face only having just calmed down from crying earlier. You were sure you looked less than presentable, but at this point you really didn’t care. A numbness growing over you, no amount of denying it was going to make it any less true. You had to accept the fact that you couldn’t go back home, not like it was.

‘ _There are many tests of life,_ _ya Danaaya. I know there is pain now. It will pass._ ’ Shrike had told you when you were calm enough to listen to her. You got the feeling that at some point, she was a mother. It was comforting to have that kind of touch, gentle and reassuring even this facility that was all too often leaving you with bad news.

You walked into the mess hall, figuring that you’d at least greet Hana and the others like you promised her that morning. When they say you, a chorus of loud, and enthusiastic greetings were sent your way. You sat across from Hana and Lúcio.

“Hey _cara_ ,” Lúcio said as you sat down, his eyebrows drawing together, “tough day?”

“Something like that.” You said, a small smile on you face, as much as you could manage. You could be fine. You had to be.

“Was it because you were late this morning?” Hana chimes in, not giving you a chance to respond to her first question. “Let me guess, more laps? Bigger weights?”

A smirk crosses her face as Lúcio joins in. “Another jab at the Commander?”

“How ‘bout-a unwanted history lesson?” You sighed, folding your arms and laying your head against them on the table.

“Codswallop! That’s got to be against the rules. Isn’t it?” Tracer asked as she sat next to you, two plates in hand, one of which she places next to your head.

“By the looks of it… I ain’t goin’ home any time soon guys.” You could _feel_ the sympathy that radiated off of the three kids around you as you closed your eyes. Not wanting to deal with this.

“Of course, you’ll get home, love. If Winston was able to fix my jam, then I’m sure you’ve got it made.” The hopeful tone of her voice didn’t make you feel any better.

“If you say so.” You brought your head up, Hana placing a hand on your arms.

“In the meantime, you can play games with me! You’ve still got a lot to learn Watson!” Hana grinned at you, her tone cheerful and full of determination. You shrugged.

“Guess so.”

“Hey, don’t forget, Parceira, even if you don’t get home as soon as you want to, you still got us!” Lúcio’s tone caught your attention, it was more sombre, you looked at him. He had a small smile on his face, eyebrows upturned in a way that you guessed was supposed to be sympathetic. You nodded as the trio around you smiled.

“I suppose I do.”

“Trust us love. There’s a lot of people here who care about you,” Tracers arm snaked around your shoulders, squeezing you into a gentle side hug. “You don’t have to be in a rush all the time, you know.”

“Lena does enough of that on her own!” Hana smiles at you as a dry chuckle passes your lips. That much was certainly true.

“You’ll get home.” Lúcio jumps in. “We know you will.”

“You just have to patient.” Lena rubbed your arm, squeezing your shoulder as she brought her arm from around you.

You nodded, your smile only a tad wider than when the conversation started. But it was enough to curb some of the worry these young people had for you. The conversation slowly filtering back to Hana’s stream, Lena’s organised visit to see a special friend of hers. Even Lúcio had news, his new album was due to come out in a few months.

On the other hand, you didn’t have much of an appetite, preferring to listen to the idle chatter until you were too tired to really stand it. The mindlessness of it leaving your mind wondering to the wreckage that was supposed to be your home. With the lack of interest in both food, and social interaction, you excused yourself with the promise of seeing them again tomorrow. Their conversation clearly not finished yet.

You left the mess hall, choosing to head to your room. The halls were quiet, your bootsteps tapping against the floor to fill the silence. You turned down the hall, steps faltering when you saw the window as the end of it. The sun was setting, not quite red. In fact, it was a dusty pink that spread across the sky. You turned your gaze, not finding it in you to watch the sunset. You couldn’t do it, not after what you found out today, too mentally and emotionally exhausted to find solace in watching it.

You walked to your bedroom, the goal of showering and falling into bed weighing into your mind. The prospect itself rather attractive as you stepped into your room, wanting to be left - -

“What do you think you’re doing?” A familiar, rough voice called out.

Your gaze snapped up from the floor. You had made quite the mistake, this wasn’t your room at all. It was your _commanders’_. Your cheeks _burned_ , embarrassment creeping into the mix of exhausting emotions. Soldier: 76 wasn’t wearing his leather Jacket, a short black shirt clung to his torso, un tucked and resting over the top of a pair of dark track pants. They sat low on his hips, towel in his hand signifying that he had probably come out of the shower very recently.

He was practically naked as he stood there, his arms folded over his wide chest, red of his visor glaring at you in anger.

“I - - I’m sorry Sir. I just - - I thought – ” You stammered.

“No, you didn’t _think_. Did your parents not teach you any manners?”

“N-no, Sir – I mean – of course they did, Sir!” _God_ you were flustered. _Stop staring_. “But – they’re - - I’m terribly sorry I didn’t – ”

“Just _stop._ ” He raised a hand, running it through his hair. He looked tired, posture slouched as he sighed. “Just… stop _talking_.”

You shut your mouth, biting your mouth in an attempt not to embarrass yourself further. A shallow grave was looking good right about now. Was he going to make you run laps? Scrub the training centre from top to bottom again? Work your arse off until you couldn’t stand? Maybe he’d have you hang from the high bar until your arms dislocated.

“Listen, kid.” He said, voice rough, tired, and not as hostile as it was before as you tried to keep your eyes directly on his visor instead of the environment around you. “Go get yourself some sleep, a good six hours would do you good. Sort yourself out and report for training in the morning.”

“Uh – yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” You nodded, stepping back, awkwardly retreating from the dragons’ den and bumping into the door. “Sorry – sorry.”

You closed the door behind you, wiping your hands on your pants as you looked around the hall. Your door was directly across the hall from his. You weren’t sure if you should be delighted because you didn’t have far to retreat to or mortified because _your_ room was a mere few meters away. If you had’ve turned left instead of right, you could’ve avoided interacting with the higher ranked man.

Did you want to avoid him? You weren’t sure. With everything so rapidly changing all the time, he was the only constant. The only unchanging factor. He was the same stick-up-the-arse man you were tackled by when you first arrived months ago. It really only made sense that you would cling to an unchanging factor, was it really all this that lead you pathetically clinging onto the unchanging nature of a C.O.? Where was it you stood with him anyway?

You placed your hand to your side. It was true that the bullet wound hadn’t needed stitches, but it remained badly bruised. It was even tender now. The image of Soldier: 76 carrying you, taking you from the battle field crossed your mind. He was such a strong man, a wall of muscle that lifted you with so much _ease._ You must’ve looked pathetic, loosing so much blood and getting yourself shot like that.

_No._

You had to move forward. Push from that and make sure it didn’t happen again, especially not to someone else. You had to stop thinking about the people who ranked higher than you as anything but that. _Higher ranked officers._ Hell, your rank was a trivial piece of history now. You _were_ a cadet now. You didn’t want to confuse duty with the petty emotions of a highly intricate situation. No matter how physically attractive anyone around you was, that was no excuse for relying on them for anything.

You had to focus on your primary objective. Getting _home._

You walked to the small dresser, taking from it a standard issue tank top and trackie dacks. All of your clothes fit in the top drawer, having nothing but the clothes you arrived with and a few sets of clothes from the resident angel and medic, Doctor Zeigler.

You walked into the bathroom and showered, the water as hot as you could stand it, part of you hoping you could scrub away the memories of the day. You washed your hair and body before stepping out and drying off. After dressing you made a beeline for the bed, climbing down onto the floor next to the bed that still felt too soft for you to get a full night’s sleep on. You hoped that you could get a few hours, as suggested by your commander.

 

You couldn’t sleep. A storm had rolled in about an hour ago, the sound of thunder and lightning flashing didn’t bother you. In fact, the electrical storm was closely tied with fond memories of running out in the rain only to get drenched on a hot summer’s night. You could feel the buzz of electricity across your skin like a subtle high. Your bare footsteps padding along the dim halls. Your hair sitting messily on your shoulders, band on your wrist in case you needed to tie it back. Your destination targeted outside, so you could go run in the rain, get your feet dirty in the muddy grass. The scent of rain to fill your lungs.

Feel like you were at home, if only for a moment.

You made your way outside, carefully shutting the door behind you, standing under an awning as the rain pelted down in fat droplets on the ground, and metal shelter above you. You took a deep breath through your nose, the scent of dirt, grass, and dense cool air filled your senses. The sound of the rain on the awning was like a tin roof. It brought a tearful grin on your face, you _loved_ that sound.

You leaned down and rolled the ends of your sweatpants up as you listened to the rain. It got up to just under your knees when you stood, the cool air causing goose bumps to appear up your legs. But you figured that your pants wouldn’t get too dirty from the mud as you looked out into the dark, only being able to see as your eyes became accustomed to it. Your line of sight was about twenty meters around. You bounced on the balls of your face and your grin spread into an energy that shot through your very bones. Your feet pushed you forward as you bounded onto the grass, splashing against the wet grass. Dirt came up from the ground, sticking to your feet, legs, and the bottoms of your pants.

Left. _In._ Right. Left. _Out._ You breathed as you ran, rain drenching you with the sheer amount that was coming down from the sky. The world became smaller as you were only able to see the dim lighting from the facility, rather than the silhouette of it. The feeling of freedom ran over you as your solid legs pushed you forwards. The grin on your face only widening as you let out a shout, thunder rumbling to meet you as you slowed to a jog.

You shouted again. It felt _fantastic._

You mind ran to a faraway place, the sound of childish laughter, the owners face springing to your mind as you imagined being far away from the future. Into the past with your little sister, at home. You could see her laughing beside you, her hair wet and sticking to her face and a million other directions. You could spend a million years in that memory, running through the rain with your sister, laughing and playing, even singing your favourite tunes badly.

You tried, the only one coming to mind was the jukebox classic that she’d screech at too early hours of the day. Joan Jett. The rest of the world fell away as you danced in the rain, kicking up waves of water, dirt, loose grass and water covering you as you lost yourself in the memory of your younger self dancing with your little sister under heavy rain in the front yard.

It would’ve no doubt looked ridiculous as you ran around, dancing as if she were here with you now, singing, admittedly more on-key than you would’ve a lifetime ago. Enjoying the chilling rain soaking you through, almost to your bones, clothes drenched and heavy. Not a care in the damn world.

You didn’t care. For now, you were home.

-

You woke up in a different environment than you had fallen asleep. A soft, but firm surface beneath you as you sat up. A different set of clothes on you, hair still wet, meaning last night wasn’t a dream. Opening your eyes and yawning, you looked around to find that you were on your bed, rather than beside it, in your room and not outside. The rain was still falling outside, though not to the degree it had been last night. What time was it? And, more importantly, who brought you back to your room?

Your guess was McCree, although Tracer was just as likely to bring you inside. There was light outside, so it was morning. Looking at the clock, you found that it was about ten. Commander 76 was going to _eat_ you for lunch. Probably.

You got up, showering quickly and getting dressed in yet another pair of trackies, and a loose. You made sure to make the bed before you left the room, running down the hall, boots and socks in hand. You figured that you’d slip them on in the training hall, no more time to waste. Maybe the commander would go easy on you today – not that you really expected him to, but it was worth a shot. On your way, you jogged towards Lena, a smile on her face.

“Good morning, love!” She called.

“G’mornin’ Tracer.” You greeted, coming to a stop as you reached her. “You wouldn’t by chance, have found me outside last night, would you?”

“No, I haven’t seen you since dinner yesterday.” She said, brows furrowing as she looked at you. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothin’ really.” You shook your head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m runnin’ a bit late, on the highway to hell so to speak. But I’ll swing by later. Alright mate?”

“Of course. I’ll see you and the others later!” her smile lit up the halls as you continued your jog down towards the training centre. Maybe it was McCree who put you to bed then? Unless someone woke you and you just don’t remember.

You ran into the training centre, dropping onto the floor by the sparring area to throw on both your socks and boots. Soldier: 76 was across the way, doing a set of chin-ups with controlled ease. It wouldn’t be wise to interrupt. You yanked the laces in your boots, from the base of the interwoven strings, up through to the top until they were as tight as you could get them without being uncomfortable.

As you tucked the ends of your pants into the tops of your boots, you heard him drop from the bar, landing on the floor with a small grunt. He turned to see you getting up, patting down your shirt.

“Cadet.” He said, acknowledging your presence in the room. The word stung. “You’re late.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, arms by your side as you stood straight, at attention. “I don’t mean to make you hot under the collar, sir. I woke up late.”

“How would…” You heard him mumble, clearly confused. You swore you saw his ears turn somewhat red as he shook his head. You released your mistake, yet again.

“I – I mean angry, sir.” You explained, cheeks heating up as the American version of the slang rushed into your mind. The future still had slang differences, and it seemed you would have to be a little more careful about your turn of phrase.

You noticed that you were using more slang terms. Even ones that you might not have used if you were back home. Maybe you were just trying to bring more of home with you here in the future. But someone had to be a True blue… right?

“Just get your ass on the mat.” Soldier: 76 said, running his fingers through his white hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading!  
> \- T.R. <3
> 
> Edited 16.04.2018


	7. Club Vinyl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Youse are bein’ ‘bout as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike!”

“He’s right there!”

“You need to aim left a little more, love!”

“The soundtrack is pretty dope in this game.”

“Youse are bein’ ‘bout as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike!” You scolded your small group of friends as you attempted to shoot the gun in D.Va’s videogame, it was harder than it looked.

“But he’s right  _there!_ ” D.Va protested. Honestly, she would’ve had this done by now, there was no doubt in your mind that she would’ve had this post-apocalyptic game done in one go. You on the other hand? Constant dying. This part of the game required stealth, calculated moves of the thumb-sticks and controls. Something you were sorely lacking.

“I know that youse are tryna help, but it’s not gonna be useful if I can’t concentrate.” You groaned as you died. Again. It wasn’t that your friends were too loud, in fact, it was more accurate that the game itself required an intense amount of concentration over the amount of frustration that dying over and over was causing you. Hearing the same lines over and over, the playable character announcing that you needed to go on _stealthily_.

Using the thumb-sticks, you turned your character around a corner, eyebrows furrowing. The backlit screen showing the character narrowly missing what was considered a ‘blind’ infected enemy entity. As far as you could see, you were already in unfamiliar territory – signalling that you were past that last point you had died. Continuing your way as stealthily as possible down the terrain of the games’ landscape, your friends had grown rowdy again.

“You got this.” Lúcio stated as you neared what you assumed was one of the many ‘checkpoints’ of the game.

“One last corner…!” D.Va cheered as quietly as she could manage, which was to say that she was at a regular volume. Obviously proud of your progress – as you had refused their help at the start of the game, passing the corner, you had the character look around.

“Watch out-!”

“On your right!” Tracer called.

You weren’t sure how it happened, or why, but the world seemed to slow, almost to a crawling speed as you assessed the danger your character was in. your fingers moved over the controller with an ease much like that you found handling a weapon on the field, another anomaly given your lack of prowess in the ‘art’ of gaming. The animated character followed your button pressed input, turning away from the grotesque ‘infected’ enemy, narrowly missing being caught in a death sequence as a cut-scene played, the tell-tale auto-save buffering symbol activated. It left you a little stunned as your friends all ‘attacked’ you in the game chair you were seated.

“GG Watson!” D.Va cheered, very much louder than before.

“Well done, love! We knew you could do it!” Tracer congratulated, ruffling your already messy-from-frustration hair.

“Woo! Nothing’s stopping you now, dude!” Lúcio laughed as he fist-bumped you.

“I’m doing a lot better, but I’m still dying every other try, guys.” You laughed at their antics, it was uplifting, sure, but you did have work to do, you looked at the time. “Alright, I gotta go hit the frog and toad before I get in trouble for being late.”

“Aw, really? You can’t stay for ten more minutes?” D.va asked, trying to use her ‘puppy dog eyes’ on you, not that it worked, you were immune after all. Having a younger sister once upon a time left you with a lot of experience in how to deal with these situations, _obviously_ _._

“You already asked that, D.Va – thirty minutes ago. I don’t want t’be a bludger on this mission.” You stated with a small smile as you stood up and stretched, shoulders sighing with relief at the change of position. “I’ll be back before you know it – just don’t call it a day before I get back okay?”

“Okay.” She pouted, you smile and slapped your hands together, fist bumping afterwards, it was your handshake after all, a sort of sign of closeness. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“I’ll see all you guys after, it’s a routine thing, I’ll be back before you know It.” you smiled, all hugging you, something you were still becoming comfortable with. Before turning and leaving D.Va’s room, jogging down the hall, retying your hair in a somewhat neater bun.

You made your way down to Winston’s lab, upon stepping through the doors, you noted that the scientist himself was the only one in the lab.

 _“_ G’day Winston,” you announced your presence as you approached his main desk. “What’re y’workin’ on?”

“Hm? I’m working through some paper work at the moment.” He stated, an actual stack of paper placed next to him.

“Scientists work is never done, then…? I uh, was wondering, the mission, you said it was just a routine thing, so I…” You hesitated, Winston’s attention turning to you with piqued interest. “I was wondering what exactly you meant. I know I’ve been here the better part of two months, but I’d like to know everything I can, have a fair go at being useful.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Very understandable.” He turned his attention from you to the holographic screen of his computer. “You will be travelling to Denver, Colorado to survey the area. There is believed to be Talon activity, which could be rather threatening to the populace.”

You nodded, looking at the map on his screen.

“That being said, I have been working on some new tech, specifically for you out on the field.” Your gazed snapped to him, eyes widened. You were going to have your own future-tech? He smiled. “You look surprised.”

“Well – of course! I didn’t really think that I’d be getting my own tech so soon, y’know? Figured that was something for members of your organisation.” A heavy hand sat on your shoulder.

“You _are_ part of this organisation, Watson, whether you want to believe it or not.” The words comforted you. Yet, believing you belonged to anything other than the (demolished) Australian military felt strange. You looked up at him.

“Well, show me what tools I’ll have at my disposal. I’ll need to know the ropes before I throw myself into the firing range again.” You grinned at him, even if a twinge of sadness and anger fell in your heart. No time to miss home now, you’d done your crying, moving forward was your only option.

“Alright, well,” he lifted what looked to be a pair of pistols, if not more futuristic, from the far end of his desk. “These are pulse pistols, they fire rapidly, which is an advantage in any close range skirmish.”

You nodded, looking at the ‘pulse’ pistols, they looked a bit like Tracers’ if you were being honest, except where Tracer’s were white, these were a dark blue.

“These pistols also have a unique function.” Winston stated, turning to you, “Placing them close enough together, side by side, they reconstruct themselves into a long-range rifle.”

You watch as he places them side by side, touching the sides together completely. They indeed transformed into a rifle, your eyes were wide as you stared, gaze turning between Winston and the weapon in front of you.

“So,” you started, “what you’re tellin’ me is, I get to handle what is probably the best piece of tech in this whole base?” Your understanding of what was indeed the ‘best’ was probably skewed if you thought about it, clearly a gun that could be split between one rifle and two pistols was astounding, however, clearly not the best in terms of complexity or scientific capability.

“Well, not the best, but I suppose, I is a rather impressive piece of weaponised technology.” Winston stated, he could practically see the awe in your gaze as you looked the equipment he had developed, it was flattering to the scientists.

“Well,” Your awe turned excited gaze turned to the scientist, “when does the mission start?” You watched as he checked the time, his brow furrowing.

“You’ve got about two hours until the dropship leaves.” He stated.

“I’d best not muck around then. I’ll come back to pick up the tech. I’ll swing back in a bit Winston!” You grinned before turning and carefully making your way to the exit of the lab, head turning over your shoulder to call back, “You’re the best!” before jogging down the hall towards your room.

You had a good feeling about this mission.

 

-

 

The two hours you had went by rather quickly, you had a small pack with you. In it was your notebook, some bandages, a change of clothes and extra clips for your guns, the essentials for a short mission. Sitting on your hips and clipped to your thighs were your gun holsters. You supposed that was enough for any sort of emergency, not that it was much of a concern as you had both Hanzo and Doctor ‘Mercy’ Ziegler with you.

As far as you knew the mission was just surveillance, hopefully you wouldn’t be shot this time. Sure there was a higher chance of not getting caught in a larger city with a higher population, but you were pretty sure not being killed last time wouldn’t amount to much if you were to be shot again.

Your arms were folded as you sat in the (admittedly much smaller than expected) dropship, the sound of its engine partly distant due to the thickness of its hull. Mind stirring with contingencies and scenarios to which the entire mission could fail. Would you be caught? How many targets were on ground zero? Why were you selected for this mission? You could do surveillance, but was there something specific they needed you on this mission for? You were a simple soldier who didn’t even carry a valid title in 2076. Practically a glorified mercenary.

Your mind traipsed towards more superficial thoughts, was it less an inadequacy and more of a physicality? The brain in your head perhaps? Winston and Mercy had told you that your mind collected more information, processing it faster before spitting out the useful Intel faster than anyone else. If that were true, did this mean that they were using you to gather and make judgements based on what you acquire?

It wasn’t until the dropship landed that your thoughts were pushed away somewhat, in favour for correcting your focus to the mission. You unclipped the harness keeping you in the seat of the airship, standing and placing your pack on your shoulders. Surveillance. It was simple, you could do it. A hand on your shoulder caused your gaze to turn.

“There is no cause for nervousness.” Mercy smiled at you, her ‘Valkyrie Suit’ giving her a similar look to an angel. You nodded, taking a breath.

“I won’t let y’down.” You stated, gaze following towards Hanzo who had walked out into the open air of the night. The pair of you following.

If the intel from the briefing was accurate, the Talon agents had made their base in a place called _‘_ _Club Vinyl_ _’_ – tactically it held advantage, a nightclub was loud and no one would be suspicious of the activities surrounding such a property. Currently, your partners were looking at you rather confused, they probably hadn’t thought to bring civilian clothing. The clothes you were wearing, you had borrowed from D.Va. Her style wasn’t exactly something you would usually find yourself invested in, but it was practical for the mission.

Low waisted skin tight dark wash jeans, and a red leather jacket, your black bra showing as the jacket wasn’t zipped up. Again, not your choice – however, it fit the aesthetic of infiltrating a nightclub to acquire information. Quite honestly, it was no surprise that they were surprised.

“I’m not here to have you stare at me. I don’t want anything goin’ pear shaped in there, and obviously with you two dressed the way you are,” you gestured to their clothing, Hanzo in his traditional dress and mercy in her armour, “you won’t be able to go in there undetected. So, with that said, I’m goin’ to go in there, and you two are goin’ t’ have-ta circle the buildin’.”

The look Mercy gave you gave you the impression that she was going to reject your ‘instruction’ on the matters. You continued speaking, your voice taking on a tone that suggested that this was the best course of action.

“Mercy, I understand you want the best for this team, however I implore you to keep your coms on. There are civilians in there. I don’t know how Overwatch handles themselves now, but I don’t want hundreds of people in the buildin’ to kick the bucket simply because we couldn’t agree to blend in and remain undercover.” You looked at Hanzo, “I trust you to keep yourselves safe, only coming inside if it completely necessary.”

“Very well, I shall do what I must.” He nods, the fierce determination in his gaze not lost on you. You place a hand on his shoulder, nodding before turning to Mercy.

“We all have a job to do, I’ll be fine. I’ll call for you if I get into trouble.” She sighs, her gaze turning as if she wants to scold you for any foolish injury this might be the cause of.

“Verstanden.” She states.

“Okay, let’s get crackin’.” You turn and walk towards the entrance, knowing your allies watch on from the shadows. If you had been able to choose your clothing, you might’ve rugged up a bit more.

“Name.” The security of the venue inquired without really questioning upon your arrival, looking over you, his eyes lingering over your chest. If you weren’t trying to play the part of someone entering the club, you would’ve had more than half the thought to smack him. You smiled, expressing confidence as you looked to his eyes.

“My name’s [Y/N] Watson.” You stated, a respectful undertone to your voice. The man nods, sparing the slightest glance towards his list. Almost as if he didn’t bother to read it, his sharp gaze turning back to you.

“You aren’t on the list.” He said, eyes flickering over your face.

“I’m sure you and I could figure out a way to put me on that list…” you stepped closer, there was only a metre between you now, his eyes growing darker, as much as you wanted to turn away, you had a mission to complete. “Couldn’t we?”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” His voice rough as he stepped aside, opening the door. That was much easier than you thought. You walked through the door, the music was louder in here.

You took a few steps inside before an arm wound its way around your hips. You turned your gaze to see the door security. His eyes were predatory at this point, you smiled up at him. He lead you to what you assumed was a supply closet – cleaning products, brooms, mops. The smirk he held as he whispered some nonsense about being ‘the best you were ever going to have’ fell from his foul mouth before you took his hand in a vice-like grip, twisting his arm to create tension downward, his back now turned towards you.

“You must have a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock.” Your voice took on a rather playful mockery, a cockiness you only afforded yourself in that you had achieved the first objective successfully, bending his arm a bit further. “To think that you’ve got more than Buckley’s chance to have sex with me. See, this is what’s going to happen – you’re going to tell me if the owner of this _fine_ establishment is here, or I might just leave you a little more broken than even the strongest spirit in this place’ll fix. What d’ya say?”

“Bullshit.” He seemed intensely confused as he struggled to get out of your hold, it was probably the slang, you didn’t care much. “You’re not gonna do anything to me, you bitch.”

“Well, guess bein’ reasonable ain’t gonna work.” You huffed as you took the tension in his legs to your advantage.

Using your free hand to push over his throat, closing his airways somewhat, you slammed your booted foot diagonally downwards on his knee cap, effectively ‘kneecapping’ him. The scream was loud and blood chilling, however, dulled due to the loud rave music and your hand on his throat.

“I’ll ask again. Is the owner here?” You felt the man swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing under your hand.

You saw him nod. The Owner was in the building.

“Hm. Thank you, for your cooperation.” You said as you took a roll of duct tape and used it around the man’s wrists, successfully binding him, and placing a long strip over his mouth before shoving him to the ground. “If anyone hears about my being here, I’ll come back – and a kneecapping will be the least of your worries.”

You left the supply closet locked, the keys you acquired in the pocket of the borrowed leather jacket. Now to find the Talon agents, one of which had to (you assumed) be the owner.

You walked through the masses of bodies, moving with the beat of the music as though you were having a good time here. Each face you passed heralded little importance as you searched for your target. It wasn’t until you accepted an offer for some guy to buy you a drink that you noticed the rather _well dressed_ men sitting at the bar, conversing.

You sat at the bar, the guy who was buying your drink beside you as you focused your hearing on the two beside you. Of course, you were still able to share in conversation with the man in front of you, who was possibly trying to get into your pants. Not that it would work.

“- -and you’re sure this, Magnil will be ready on time?” _Magnil?_

“Human trials - -”

“- - start with the opium addicts - -” _Magnil sounds like a drug._

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” You answered your companion’s question, ignoring the alcoholic beverage. You hadn’t watched it while it was being made.

“- - increased aggression - -”

“- - won’t stop even if shot- -”

As you listened, taking from it what you thought was important, the men across the bar soon stood and left, walking towards the crowd. You smiled and bid goodbye to the man who had bought you the drink you hadn’t even sipped out of. Following the men from a relatively short distance, you attempted not to make it obvious that you were following the suited men.

People danced and raved to the loud music, it was somewhat similar to Lúcio’s if you were honest, although his was definitely better quality. Eventually, your path led you to a door at the back of the club that no doubt led to below the establishment. You moved away carefully, making your way into the closest restroom. Upon entering and establishing that there were no civilians in the area, you activated your coms, they had remained silent for the duration of your time so far.

“Internal underground entrance. Westward side. Over.”

_“Copy that, Watson. We shall look for alternate entry westward.”_

You sighed, exiting the rest room, you needed to know what was down there. You knew there were at least six members of staff that were security on the inside of the building. Statistically speaking, if Hanzo and Mercy were able to enter the building, it would still be a two-to-one fight at the absolute minimum, not to mention the amount of potential casualties.

Technically, you’d be able to take out the security without batting an eye, you had been trained to do so, yet unnecessary death was bot pointless and unsavoury. Your mind turned back to the door, there was no obvious lock mechanism, and the handle was flat. Future tech, your guess being fingerprint oriented, or a similar nature.

The volume of the music was starting to bother you, you preferred all of your senses optimal on a mission and the white noise. You’d have to deal with it right now, you had to figure out a way through the door. Picking the lock was useless, the technology was too advanced, and forcing the door open was a bad idea move. The door was reinforced steel as far as you could see, the action would gain the attention of everyone in sight. Also a terrible plan. Waiting until the door was opened or using a Talon operative left your mind in a huff. That was the worst notion so far. This was taking too long, you needed to infiltrate the area.

You placed your hands on your hips, a hard metal chunk met you through the leather jacket on your shoulders. You looked down and pulled the keys carefully from your pocket, would one of these work on the door? You looked over the set, one of the keys was not like the others. It was thicker and didn’t have a distinct cut to it.

You decided to take your chances, traversing to the door and placing the key against it, the key latched onto the flat surface, the lock on the door disengaging. A fleeting moment left you wishing you were invisible so that whatever faced you behind the door would have no chance of seeing you, not that invisibility was a possibility. You opened the door as carefully as you could manage, shutting it behind you was you stepped onto the landing at the top of the staircase that faced you. You placed your finger on the comlink once again. Voice low as you crouched.

“Mercy, Hanzo. ‘M inside. Looks like some type-a lab.” You stated as you took your hand away, climbing a little way down the stairs to take a better look. The men from earlier talking in the much quieter space. You could hear their conversation.

“ - -Magnil with then, cause a state of psychosis in those who take it. The drug itself, due to its’ chemical makeup of course is highly addictive.”

“Human trials have started, yes?”

“Of course, they started yesterday. There is not much success, however the situation is being improved.”

You gaze swept the room, you barely made a sound, partly for fear of being discovered. There were many more operatives inside this room, at least fifteen in addition to the two suited men. Some were moving boxes, others loading clips and stocking weapons or sorting what looked to be chemicals, both liquid and solid materials. Overall, it was extremely organised. Your coms almost caused you to flinch when Hanzo’s voice came across the line.

“There is an entrance on the roof. North west side.” He stated, no doubt stationed there inspecting it. You didn’t have time to act on the information just yet.

“- - reduce the influence of this ‘new Overwatch’.” What? You had missed something focusing on the communications line.

“Excellent. This is very useful information indeed.”

“This concludes our business then?”

“I will return next month, expecting a full progress report.”

“Of course.”

The footsteps of one of the suited men towards the staircase worried you. Turning and making your way towards the door as quietly and quickly as possible. No one knew of your presence and you intended to keep it that way. You opened the door and slipped through as you heard the first steps of the man on the staircase below.

The music was horrendously loud inside, largely disorientating for the first moment before you made your way into the crowd, as if you hadn’t left. The exit plan was simple, either leave the way you came, or leave through the exit Hanzo discovered without anyone being any the wiser for it. It was a clear decision really. You took the least disruptive path towards the North-West of the building, looking for the exit.

The area was dark, which in and of itself presented hope, unless there was no entrance there at all. The potential of being trapped filled you with apprehension, there didn’t seem to be a way to get up to the supposed exit without drawing attention. Going out the door would potentially leave to suspicion as you had entered with one of the staff, currently bound by duct tape. Your mind ran through a host of ideas, almost like scrolling through a menu of things that could turn out badly, for instance, turning off the power – that would be quite the distraction but would inevitably lead to your demise as you didn’t actually know where the fuses to the premises were located. Not to mention the cameras that had possibly caught you on tape already.

You turned to the crowd, mind churning, people were dancing and getting tipsier by the minute. Could you perhaps use that to your advantage? You surveyed the crowd once again. Think, what could you use? Who could be persuaded? How do you get out of here? You turned your gaze, two rather strong looking men were dancing in the crowd of people, each were a little far apart. However they looked about drunk enough to be persuaded into starting a very much needed distraction. You walked over to the larger of the two men, weaving through the crowd with partial ease. It was easier than before as the crowd had thinned since the beginning of the evening. How long had you spent here anyway?

“Hey, sailor.” You started, catching his attention, a wolfish grin spreading over his face. You smirked somewhat, highly uncomfortable with the way his eyes snaked over your body, focusing on your exposed skin.

“Hey there, babe.” He said, the same grin on his face as you swayed somewhat to the music. You quirked an eyebrow at the pet name, at least he had kept his hands to himself so far.

“Thought I’d let y’know… The guy over there? In the red top?” his gaze flicked momentarily to the man in question, “He told me that you looked like a mangled sewerage rat who can’t ‘get it up’ if you know what that means?” you quirked an eyebrow, attempting to look innocent as his face contorted in rage.

“He said that?” you nodded to his question.

“I left out the part about you being the half-breed of an Omnic, though.” You added, your tone sounding as though you were being helpful.

You knew that it wasn’t a stretch to assume that most people around had a hatred for the Omnics around the planet, and considering this club had none in sight, that too wasn’t much of a stretch to assume. You watched as he became rather enraged, walking past you and through the wall of people dancing to make his way to the young man in the red top. He had your sympathies, although it was a rather small price for the distraction you required to leave the establishment and get back to your team unnoticed.

It was like a mad chain of events, the man in the red shirt was hit in between his shoulder blades, knocking him into another patron as he too grew angry, turning to hit the man who you had insulted, only to hit someone’s girlfriend and so on, the chain reaction caused a large fight to break out in the middle of the night club. The exact thing you needed.

You ducked and weaved away from the crowd as best you could, moving away from patrons who had obviously had too much to drink and would be feeling _everything_ the next day. You made your way towards the entrance of the club where some people were already heading, whom obviously wanted no part of the commotion. Taking the liberty to blend in, you followed them outside, ducking into the alleyway beside the club itself.

You looked around, trying to orientate yourself, looking to find which direction north was in relative to your current position. You pressed your fingers to your communications device, eyebrows furrowing as you spotted a rather thick pipe on the outside of the building.

“I’m heading to the roof. Over.” You stated as you jogged to the pipe, starting to climb the building using the brackets holding the metal of the cold pipe to the building itself.

 _“Roger that, Watson.”_ Mercy’s voice gracefully met your ears through the coms.

You placed your hands in the gap between the pipe and concrete side of the building as you climbed, nothing to assist you but your own strength and the structural integrity of the building. You placed your booted feet on either side of the building, close enough to the pipe that you could use your whole body as a grip should you need it, walking up the building at a mediocre pace.

You repeated the motion of moving your hands up the pipe, one at a time with your feet following suit. Halfway up the building you heard police sirens approaching, filling you with dread, much like it had upon your arrival in this strange time. You started climbing faster, hoping to out-climb any possibility of being spotted.

You made it to the top, meeting Hanzo as you reached up to the ledge of the building, his grasp on your borrowed jacket was only a comfort when he hauled you over the building. You turned to him after, dusting off your hands. You nodded, him he nodded back at you, mutual understanding in the gesture before the pair of you made your way towards mercy’s location so that you could get out of dodge.

-

 

On the way to your debriefing back at HQ, you were met with the quiet, yet unusual company of Hanzo by your side. He wasn’t a bad person by any means, but you didn’t trust him, not out on the field anyway. He seemed to have a rather large chip on his shoulder that presented as a quiet archer who happened, (according to his file) to be a former member of the ‘Shimada Clan’. There seemed to be no end of secrets in this organisation. You walked into Winston’s office. Mercy already standing there, looking over a holographic screen, her face pure focus. You stood in front of the gorillas’ desk.

“Good evening agents, have a seat.” Winston said as he turned his full attention to all of you. You took a seat, hands on the arm rests on either side of you. “Your report of the mission is all I need from you.”

He was all business today, a pleasant surprise if you were honest. You glanced at both Hanzo and Mercy, who were looking expectantly back at you. It became apparent you would be reporting the events of the night. You sat up, shoulders and back straight, hands now seated in your lap as you looked at him, mind working to condense and choose the most relevant information.

“I infiltrated the building. Under the establishment is what appears to be a subsidiary of the Talon organisation. They plan to form an army to weed out and eliminate Overwatch operatives. The estimated time before they have the necessary preparations is one month.” You spoke with finality and a clinical tone that made you feel as though you were reading the summary of a textbook.

“What kind of army?” Winston inquired, folding his hands on his desk as he became more than fully immersed in what you had to say.

“As far as the intel, the only way to take down the targets will be a shoot to kill Strat. They are creating soldiers out of civilians.”

“Do you know how?”

“Unclear.” You shook your head, “The only intel is that they are financing the development of a drug.”

“Hm..” Winston scratched his chin in thought, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is there anything else you know?” You shook your head, nothing else held much relevance. Not that you could think of anyway. Winston sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Then I suppose you’re free to go. If there is anything else you remember, please bring it to my attention.”You stood and nodded, making your way out of the room as Hanzo and Mercy talked with Winston, presumably about the mission and its details. Not having any interest in the affairs, you made for a shower and hopefully some sleep due to the long hours of the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews Let me know you want more! Leave me a comment down below telling me what you think!  
> Happy reading and Stay Safe heroes!  
> \- T.R. <3


	8. Late Night, Early Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’re you reading?”  
> “A book.”  
> “… What kind of book?”  
> “One with words.”  
> “Smart-ass.”

Prisoner. That’s what you were.

This whole situation would be torture. Hana wanted to go shopping. Not that going out to get supplies, of any kind was inherently bad, but going out just to browse was ridiculous. Spending time in a place where the only objective was to spend hours without any real goal was the worst way to be unproductive, even in your own time.

Currently, you were trapped between Hana and Lena, both of which refused to let you continue wearing the standard clothing you were issued. Which, you, of course, didn’t have a problem with. They were comfortable clothes.

“Come on! It’s not going to be that bad, [Y/N].” Hana spoke from beside you, her tone encouraging.

“Cheer up, it’ll be a whole new experience for you.”

You groaned, walking with the two girls, navigating the people and Omnics walking around the sleek and all too clean surroundings that lead to the entrance of the shopping centre. You looked at the strange information terminals and plants around the entryway, your negative outlook unswayed as your curiosity started to rise. You walked with them through the glass automatic doors into the shopping centre, arms folded in a sulking manner, even if the inside was rather impressive. Real plants were located at various places down the centre and sides of the walkways, the stores while limited to what you recognised as monopolising companies from your own time. It didn't come as a surprise really, not until you saw that there was a terminal for online ordering from companies such as Amazon and eBay.

In all honesty, you weren't thrilled about the visit until you walked near a bookstore, it wasn't one that you had even heard of, simply titled Bookable. It had caught your attention, mostly for the fact that you hadn't seen any reading books around, and you really wanted to take a peek at what kinds of books would be published in your future. A tug on your arm had your attention momentarily turned as both girls stopped to bring you with them.

"Come on, nerd! You can look at the books later, 'kay?" Hana encouraged, "We gotta get you a new outfit first."

"...Fine." You huffed, leaving the entrance of the bookstore. Your friends dictating your first official stop, which was probably their version of a run-of-the-mill department store, but from your perspective, it was more of a designer brand outlet.

Your apprehensive attitude grew into self-consciousness as you walked passed people who were dressed much better than you, browsing in the store. Some gave you disgusted looks, the casual once over that displayed their judgement clearly. You pressed your lips together as you moved onwards with Hana and Lena, forcing your attention to the girls. Their gazes looking over different clothing. Hana looking through clothes that were more form fitting than Lena’s area of choice, comfortable looking clothes. You supposed that between them you could not only find a happy medium but finish faster as you’d be covering more ground.

You looked over the clothing racks, not to browse, but gently run your fingers over the fabric of the apparel. There were too many styles and colours. Even patterns for you to really care for. Mostly you were waiting for either of the girls to pick _something_ , so you could leave and escape into the bookstore. You sat down onto a stool by a shoe isle, taking the opportunity to retie your boots and look at the store from a stationary perspective. The entrance and emergency exit at either end of the store were the only exits. The store itself was moderately busy, people browsing or coming in to buy specific items before leaving in a hurry, having places to be.

“[Y/N], there you are. Hana and I found some really cute clothes for you to try on!” Lena stood before you, a giddy grin on her animated face.

You huffed as you stood, dusting off your pants. “Show me.”

The young Brit took hold of your arm and quickly dragged you to the change room, grinning the whole way.

“Lena, you found her. Awesome!’ Hana said as the two all but threw you into the small, private space. “Hurry and try something on!”

You sighed, looking at the clothes around you, most of it was bright and vibrant in colour. _Definitely_ not what you were used to. Picking up a bright green shirt, your eyebrows furrowed. You looked at the pile again, picking up what you thought _might_ match, a pair of red form-fitting jeans that was sitting under the shirt. Obviously Hana’s pick.

Changing into the clothes, you carefully folded your own to set them aside along with your boots. Now in sock clad feet as you opened the curtain to show the girls the outfit you had haphazardly taken from the mass of colour in the change room. They turned to each other, both looking unsure of the outfit before looking back at you.

“I don’t like it.” Lena looked contemplative at your outfit.

“It just doesn’t fit your character.” Hana commented, leaning on her hands, elbows on her knees.

“Oh! Why doesn’t she try on the yellow sweater?”

“The sweater? That might work. And if she wore the creme leggings?”

“That’ll look so cute!”

You stood here, a little uncomfortable at the girls giggling and outfit planning.

“Hey, [Y/N], go try on the yellow sweater and creme leggings, okay?”

You turned and walked back into the change room, begrudgingly searching the pile of clothes until you found what you were after. Trying on the clothes and walking out again. Gaining approval and comments about how ‘good’ you looked.

The process of trying on different clothing went on for an hour or so. You almost swore that every time you blinked there was a constellation of colours to greet your eyes in a very unpleasant way. The only real ‘ _bright_ side’ was that the girls were allowing you to pick an outfit yourself, something about a casual outfit around the base. Still, you weren’t complaining, looking for moderately dark colours rather than the brightness of everything the girls had picked out.

You walked the isles at a quickened pace, eyes scanning the area. In the end, you chose a dark grey, loose t-shirt from the women’s section. With nothing else piquing your interest, you found yourself in the men’s section. Much to the girl’s disappointment. You honestly didn’t mind, looking over the muted colours of what was probably their workmen wear. You picked out a pair of dark cargo pants, with _plenty_ of pockets.

When you were done, you followed the girls to the buy the clothes. It was then that you were met with the sudden realisation that you didn’t exactly have money to purchase the items. Even in the army you had no reason to buy clothes as everything as standard and provided. To say the least, it had your heartbeat spending up, and your hands bunching up the fabric between your fingers. Your pace lagging, gaining the attention of Hana and Lena.

“Are you alright, love?” Lena was first to ask.

“We’re going to have to put all this back…” you murmured

“Like hell we are!” Hana exclaimed, offended at the idea.

“Don’t you like them?” Lena took on a calmer tone than Hana, more worried about your feelings on the matter.

You shook your head. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Hana asked, taking on a more concerned outlook.

“I don’t have any money to- -”

“That’s not actually true.” Hana interrupted, Lena nodding in agreement.

“Didn’t Hana tell you?” Your confusion put a smile on the girls faces.

“All the streaming you’ve been doing with me has really helped out. I was gonna tell you earlier, but you were in a _such_ a grumpy mood.”

“So?” You were the confused. Sure, you helped Hana out by playing multiplayer games with her a few times, but you didn’t understand the relevance.

“I get paid through donations, and people really like you playing with me. So, more people donate. I figured, I’d just use the difference to buy you some clothes and other stuff you might want.”

Hana had a smile on her face, but all you could think of was how you could possibly pay her back. Sure, you spent time playing games with her, but that was the respite between training for you; time well spent with a friend.

“Now, now Love, don’t make that face.” Lena tugged you along towards what was probably the ‘register’.

“But- -”

“No buts! Listen, [Y/N]. Whatever you got going in your head, it’s not worth caring. about. I told you that I’ve got it covered. ‘Kay?”

“Okay.” You said, gaze cast downwards.

Hana paid for your clothes, the items folded neatly into a bag, the whole process was intriguing. It seemed the store had an Omnic specifically designed to fold and scan the clothing, a holographic screen, not unlike those you had seen before, was used to pay for the items. Once outside the store, you looked to the girls.

“Could we, maybe go look at the book store?” The girls both stopped and turned to you, smiles spreading across their faces once again.

“Sure thing.” Lena said, turning towards the direction of the bookstore, her pace slowing about halfway there. “Hana, Starbucks is over there. Do you think we could pop in for a quick visit?”

“Hm… Their coffee kind of sucks, but if you wanna go call you’re girlfriend, I guess we have no choice.” Hana said as she grinned at Lena. “Do you mind, [Y/N]?”

“Not at all. But I’d still like to go to the bookstore afterwards.” You said, eyes turning towards Lena who was almost up to exploding with excitement.

“Yes! Let’s go.” She practically skipped her way to the cafe. The pair of you walking behind her.

Starbucks, in your time, was a large franchise of cafe’s selling primarily coffee for high prices. Walking in, it didn’t seem like that. The store felt clean, with the aesthetic of what you would have considered a modern house to look like in your time. A few people of vastly different appearances seemed to frequent the area. Lena bounded towards one of the many computer desktops that stood on a bench on the far wall. Hana turned towards the register. An Omnic standing behind it, attention on making another patrons order.

“[Y/N], how do you have your coffee?”

“You don’t have to order me- -“

“‘Strong, milk, two sugars.’ Right?” A Spanish sounding woman said, stopping next to you. Purple tips holding a neon glow appearance to the ends of her hair and what looked to be augmentations on the side of her head. She was right.

“How’d you know?”

“You look the type.” The sly smirk on her face had you raising a brow as Hana’s expression turned to confusion.

“Uh - How do I order that?” You smiled sheepishly at Hana.

“It’s just a Flat White, but you really don’t have to Hana.” It was too late, Hana was already talking to the young boy who had popped up behind the counter. Looks like it wasn’t just Omnics working in the centre. You turned your attention to the woman beside you. “Who are you?”

“A friend.” You watch as the young woman smirks, waving her hand at the question, as if it were nothing. You didn’t feel right about her. You folded your arms.

“Hm. Well, have a good one.” You walked up by Hana and leant against the pickup counter.

You could hear Lena across the small area of the cafe, talking in what was probably supposed to be a hushed voice. She sounded excited, and positively elated with whoever she was chatting to. Hana turned to you.

“Something wrong, [Y]- -”

“Not sure.” You pressed your lips together. Eyes scanning the establishment.

Hana nods, turning and walking over to Lena.

You had a feeling that something was off. It was a sneaking suspicion when you had seen the Spanish woman. But now you felt something was _very_ wrong. The feeling turned into the sensed threat of a woman who approached you directly. She looked rather upset, you watched as she raised a pointed finger at you.

“Just who do you think you are? Wearing that disgraceful uniform!” Her tone was agitated and full of malice in the now silent cafe.

“Ma’am I’m not sure I- -”

“Overwatch was a disgrace!” She yelled, jabbing you in the chest. “And anyone related are a waste of space!”

Her commotion was met with support by other patrons. Hana and Lena were even looking over to see if you were okay. You just shook your head towards them. You could handle this. Right?

“Ma’am, please. Hear me out.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust, clearly not interested.

“Not one of you were able to help while that retched organisation was running. There’s no point in justifying that disgrace now!” A few others shared their agreement, tossing a few insults at you, which spurred people from outside to enter the store.

As the sound grew within the cafe, Lena and Hana made their way over to try and remove you from the situation. You stood there, taking the abuse with a stoic expression. It didn’t feel any different from the times you had been reprimanded by your commanding officers. The only thing that you felt was a bother was the claustrophobic nature that the people in the cafe were creating.

Your hands felt clammy. The space between you and the woman yelling at you felt short, as though she was preventing you from moving. You felt like every fibre of your body had started to shake. Every pair of eyes seemed to be on you. You felt two pairs of hands fall on you, but all you could focus on was the tightness that exploded in your chest and the images that flashed over your vision.

You tried to get oxygen into our lungs, but it didn’t feel like they were working anymore. Blood seemed to appear on your hands, your throat closing. Your heart hammered in your chest, causing a sharp pain to appear. You tried to convince yourself that the blood on your hands wasn’t real.

_They’re right._

Your chest felt tight. It hurt.

_You’re a disgrace, pathetic!_

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to breathe.

_You don’t deserve to wear a uniform that you didn’t earn._

Everything felt so closed in. Trapped.

_You’re a pity party! Pull yourself together!_

Why couldn’t you breathe?

_You call yourself a soldier?_

Your legs couldn’t hold you anymore.

_You couldn’t even help your sister! What makes you think you can help yourself?_

A metallic taste filled your mouth.

_You’re worthless. Everyone knows it. You can’t do anything right!_

You felt the hot tears that spilled uncontrollably down your face. Breathing was a battle, you had to calm down. Stay awake, you weren’t safe. Your skin was on fire. You didn’t know which way was up. Your legs didn’t feel like they could hold you anymore.

You clenched your jaw, the pain in your chest starting to become overshadowed by the pain in your hand. You felt the whimper that escaped you as you tried to breathe through both the pain and the tightness in your chest and windpipe.

The air suddenly felt colder. The noise not as loud. The rushing of blood filled your ears. You could vaguely hear voices near you. You tried to calm your breathing. You weren’t trapped. You could see the light behind your eyelids.

You had to calm down. You had to stop the shaking. The spinning.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. You brought your hand up. A challenge. Your fingers wrapped around the wrist of the person. The pain of your other hand, you used to try and ground yourself. The pain in that hand was real. You knew that.

You had to focus on that. Focus on your breathing. You opened your mouth; the metallic taste was back. Your hand was partially cold. You tried to breathe. It came in as a short burst of oxygen.

You tried again. And again. Focusing on the stinging pain of your hand. Rooting you to the present.

It was the year 2076.

You took a breath.

This was the result of a mission gone south.

You took another breath. Slower this time.

Lena and Hana had taken you out.

_In._

They were your friends.

_Out._

Slowly, you felt your heart ease its rapid pace. The sound of blood rushing in your ears slowly disappeared. A numbness grew over you as you opened your eyes, keeping your breathing as level as you could. You saw the worried gazes of Lena and Hana. It was Hana who had her hand on your shoulder. You pried your fingers from her wrist. A light red hand mark across her skin, you took in a shaking breath. Not wanting to spiral backwards.

You dug your fingernails into your hands. You looked to see that you were leaning against a wall outside the building. Which explained why the temperature had dropped.

“Are you alright, Love?” Lena’s voice was calm, but hesitant.

You shook your head. Not seeing the look the girls shared. Your gaze was cast downwards.

“I’m… sorry.” You said, voice raspy and weak. You felt tired.

“It’s not your fault, that old hag pretty much attacked you!” Hana sounded upset.

“We’re just glad you’re responding to us. You had us worried sick.” Lena sat in front of you. “But you did a solid number on your hand.”

You looked down at your hand in question, there were small cuts from your teeth in your palm. Blood and saliva stuck to your hand, your nose winkled in disgust.

“[Y/N], you don’t look well, do you wanna head back?” You slowly nodded at Hana’s question.

“Probably for the best.” You rasped.

Pulling yourself up on numb legs, you wobbled. Hana and Lena made sure you didn’t fall on your way to Hana’s car.

-

After a proper meal following the mornings events, you found yourself by the window in the hall, drawing. It wasn’t particularly good, but it was a method you often had used to clear your head. Dirt, a dusty surface, and on the odd occasion you had even used burnt coals from a fire or two. This time, you had the luxury of a book and pen to use.

Honestly, the paper itself looked like a mangled mess of black from what you drew. You had been thinking about the morning you spent with Hana and Lena. About home. Things were so different here. So much more than you had really expected. You sighed, placing the book down, pen inside to keep your place as your gaze fell to outside, through the window.

After a few moments, you hear someone walking down the hall. They stop by you, pausing before sitting down, leaning against the opposite wall to you. The quiet sound of music emitting from their direction.

“Hey, [Y/N]. What’re you doing out here by yourself?” You look at Lucio and shrug.

“Just wanted a place to think.”

“That sounds fair, whatever you’re thinking about though, looks real heavy on your mind.”

“It’s nothing, just concerned about things around here.” Okay, it wasn’t a completely straight forward answer, or really what was completely on your mind. But it’d have to do if you wanted to keep the burden of your thoughts away from the others.

“I get it. Most of us have one thing or another about the place on our minds. I know Hana’s real worried about you though.” He points at your hand. “Looks like that hurt.”

“Nah, she’ll be right… Hana really that worried?”

“Of course, she is, Lena is too. Apparently, someone attacked you while you girls were out this morning.”

“Mm… I guess folks don’t really appreciate the Overwatch logo.” You shrug. “It’ll be fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Well, if you adapt out there as fast as you adapt to playing Hana’s video games, I’m sure you’ve got it in the bag.” He grins at you.

You match his grin with a weary smile. “You’re awfully fond of Hana.”

You watch as Lucio’s eyes widen, and his grin turns into a bashful smile. “Well, of course I do. She’s smart, quick witted, and she’s great to be around.”

“I know.”

“Did you know she’s not just great at games? She’s got a bunch of talents. She was an actress, now she’s a mech pilot. She’s really determined too.”

You listened for a while, from everything Lucio thought about Hana at her best, to the worst he had ever seen her. Which was a marathon of a game called Starcraft. Apparently, she had been too stubborn to go to bed and had spent around five days or so playing before passing out at her desk. You enjoyed listening to the stories Lucio had to tell. He was good at stringing words together to make even dull moments engaging. Eventually, you stopped him.

“Not that I want to stop you talking about Hana, but I feel like you came here to find me.”

“Yeah, I did actually.” Lucio said, sitting up. “Lena said something about wanting to find you. Something about a book?”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow. You didn’t go to the bookstore when you went out. You didn’t have the chance.

“That’s what she told me. We didn’t know where you were, so I’ve been looking for you.”

“Huh. Well I guess we’d better go find Lena, if she’s not busy.”

The pair of you stood, your book of drawings in your arms as Lucio lead the way down the hall.

“What’s that?” He gestured to the book.

“It’s just some drawings and some notes.”

“Huh. So, you draw? Can I see some of your work?” You knew the question was genuine, but it still irritated you as you hesitantly opened the book to the page you were on. The half-finished drawing looking a lot clearer in the fluorescent lighting.

“Wow.” Lucio seemed surprised, his eyes scanning over the drawing. “You put a lot of yourself into your work.”

The sentiment confused you, but you weren’t about to argue. It was part of you in a way and quite frankly, you were just glad that someone recognised that at all really. You continued down the hall.

“How long did you spend drawing that, [Y/N]?”

“Uh, I’m not all that sure. Probably almost as long as I was sittin’ by the window honestly.” You shrug. Lucio guiding you towards the common room where Lena and Hana were watching a program on the holographic television screen.

“That’s epic, dude.” He turns his attention to the girls, a smile on his face. “I found her.”

The girls look over, you’re pleasantly surprised when they sit up on the couch and smile at you. You supposed that they were glad to see that you were okay, and not in such a panic as you were earlier.

“Hi girls. Lena, you wanted me for somethin’?” You said as Lucio sat down between them. Lena reached and took a book off the coffee table.

“Hana and I got you a book. We know you wanted to go to the bookstore… And even though we didn’t end up there, I just wanted you to have something that you might actually want.”

“You didn’t have to, Lena it’s- -”

“Just take the book, love.” Lena holds the book towards you, and gingerly, you took it from her hands. The book held a rather comfortable weight to it.

“Thank you. both of you.” You looked at the girls, a small smile resting on your face. The book resting in your hands. Lena put her arms around you.

“I’m just glad you’re alright, [Y/N].”

“Hey, [Y/N]. You up for some videogames?” Hana asked, her tone enthusiastic.

“Sure thing, Hana.” You sat down on the couch, Lena next to you.

Hana stood and started setting up the game she wanted to play. You were family certain it was her go-kart game. The theme song started playing on it as Hana handed out controllers to everyone. Of course, she was player one. As the game was set up, you placed your new book on the coffee table, only taking a moment to look at the cover. It happened to be a book you had heard was supposed to be published sometime into your future.

You turned your attention to the game, fingers resting on the controller comfortably, not that you would win, but you planned to at least have fun. The menus only lasted a few seconds before the countdown to the start of the race sounded. You followed the path of the map, finger holding the accelerator on the controller down as far as it could possibly go.

“You’re good, but I’m better!” Hana teased as she found herself in first place. Only to be taken over by Lena.

“Better luck next time love!”

You glanced over at the girls. They were both leaning forward, Lucio sat between them, leaning back against the couch. You decided to lean back as well, not wanting to enter whatever competition they had started between themselves. He glanced at you, matching smiles making their way to your faces.

“Having fun?” He asked.

“You bet.” You turned your eyes went back to the screen, you had crashed into a wall. You righted the character and continued on your way. Hana and Lena competing for first place.

 

In the end, you hadn’t won a single game, the highest placement as second, behind Hana. You didn’t mind. It was fun playing with your friends in some non-consequential competition. At this point, the game had been packed away. You were seated on the couch, reading the book Hana and Lena had gotten for you. You hadn’t been able to sleep. It wasn’t that the bed you had been provided had anything wrong with it, you hadn’t really spent much time sleeping on it anyway, preferring the floor instead. Which was most likely a reflection of your time in the army.

You sat with one arm over the back of the couch, your head leaning against it as you read, your other hand holding the book. The arm carefully holding the book was leaning on your bent leg, the other leg folded to lay almost under you on the couch. It was a strange position, but comfortable to read in considering you were engrossed in the book. The main protagonist had met with a mysterious figure in the magic library they were in.

_“Sam, you can’t seriously think this is a good idea.” Jack said, his concern evident._

_“If what Gaia says is true… I’ve got no choice, have I?” She asked, her steel grey eyes set in a determined glare at the library’s Guardian._

_“I’m afraid it is your choice alone, dear. But, you must be aware of the risks involved should you choose to take on this perilous journey.”_

_“I understand the risks. The knowledge here is too valuable to fall into the enemy’s hands.” Sam straightened her shoulders, Gaia took in the appearance of the stubbornly bold young woman._

_“I’ll go with you.” Jack placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder._

_The pair waited expectantly for Gaia to answer their acceptance of the quest that lay before them. Her gaze was level, looking over them as they stood together. She made the quiet revelation that their natural aura complemented each other in ways that would soon - -_

A hand on your shoulder made you jump, a high pitched, somewhat strangled noise coming from your mouth as the book fell to your chest. Your leg swiftly swung up, colliding with a metal surface that left your bare foot with the resounding pain of stubbing a toe against any piece of furniture in the middle of the night.

“Son of a motherless—!” You leant forward, not taking any concern or sympathy to the other person groaning from the impact they had taken.

You placed your hands around your foot, putting pressure on the toes you had ungraciously banged. Gaze turning to the uninvited visitor, only to find your commanding officer, Soldier: 76 standing with his hand against his forehead.

_Well, fuck._

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Are you- -?”

He raised a hand, effectively silencing you. He looked at you as he walked past. His tall figure shadowed over you before he sat down at the other end of the couch, not a word you had heard from him being uttered yet. Your hands fell to the book you were holding.

“If you had’ve been more observant, cadet, you would’ve heard when I addressed you by the door.”

You looked down at your feet, hands now residing in your lap. Your eyebrows furrowed, the Soldier never came to find you unless he needed something.

“… Did you need somethin’ from me?” You looked up at him.

“Figured you’d be asleep like the others.” He leant back against the couch, sighing. “You’re not usually out of your room around this time.”

“Oh…” You sat the book in your lap, thumb running along the cover. You hadn’t realised that he would’ve taken any notice of your habits at all really in the few months you had been there.

You waited to see if Soldier: 76 would speak or continue the conversation, not really having anything to add. When the moment seemed to pass, you carefully picked up the book you had been reading and backtracked to reread part of what you had already read. It wasn’t too much of a problem at first, until you felt eyes on you.

Glancing up, you’d just see Soldier laying back against the couch, his head towards the ceiling. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion as you read, until you caught his movement over the book. It was rather uncomfortable, someone watching you read.

“It’s rude.” You commented, “Watchin’ someone read.”

You were met with a small, gruff noise at first as he sat up a bit straighter. “What’re you reading?”

“A book.”

“… What kind of book?”

“One with words.”

“Smart-ass.”

You smiled at that, looking up from your book. “True. Seriously though… it’s just a readin’ book, Hana and Lena got if for me. I, uh, started it a couple hours ago actually.”

You sat up on the couch, showing him the front cover. You pointed at the title, giving him a chance to read it.

“The title is raised in the cover too so it’s bumpy - uh - textured. Which is really cool.”

You were admittedly tense which was probably partially due to the fact that Soldier: 76 was your commanding officer, and also partially due to the fact that you weren’t technically on the clock right now. So, really, you had no clue what was acceptable behaviour or what kind of relationship you had with him. He ran his fingers over the cover as you held the book out to him.

“What’s it about?” He said, voice quiet, rough, and tiresome.

“Oh, the book? I can’t tell you. that’d be spoilin’ it.” You shut the book, looking at the cover.

“You can’t just tell me what’s on the back?” He asked, looking at you from behind his visor.

“Nope! One – that’s cheating. And two - that’s also spoilers. Besides, you can have a lend of it if you want. It’s a pretty good read so far.”

“I couldn’t do that.” He said.

“Don’t you like reading?” You ask, knowing it was probably a dumb question.

“Never any time.”

“There’s time now.” You offer what you hoped was a sincere smile at him. Holding out the book as he looks at you. “Give the first few pages a read. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep reading it. No harm done. If you like it, you can have a lend of it. Sound fair?”

You watched as he gingerly took the book from your hands. Which of course, meant one thing; progress! Perhaps off the clock, you could learn more about the elusive man. Reading was a good place to start. You waited, looking down and playing with your fingers as he opened it to read. Your gaze snapped up after a moment.

“Don’t dog-ear the pages.” You blurt before you can stop yourself, effectively interrupting him before he could start. You look away as you bit the inside of your cheek. “Sorry…”

“Anything else I should know?” He asks, looking at your bashful expression. You fidget with your thumbs, gaze turning downward.

“Uhm… please don’t leave the book open facedown, or deface it…” You trailed off, nothing really left to request of him in your mind yet.

“Is that all?” You could feel his gaze on you as you nodded, looking down at your hands.

You had a certain way you took care of books, it was intense sometimes. It could’ve stemmed from you never really having many books other than library books as a kid to take care of. You contemplated the different things you did to take care of books as Soldier started to read, shifting to lean against his hand, holding onto the book in the other so that he could lean against the arm rest.

You found it dull after around ten minutes, or what you assumed was ten minutes. Really, it had been four pages of the book according to the amount of page flipping he had accomplished. You decided to sit with your arm leaning against the arm rest. The idea of Soldier: 76 reading the book to you filtered through your mind momentarily. It was certainly appealing, he did kind of have a similar low reverb in his voice to that of Morgan Freeman when narrating, but it was generally lower in pitch and rougher sounding.

The thought of Soldier reading to you slowly swam around your mind until you were fairly certain he was actually reading out loud. When you looked over, he was reading the words quietly out loud to himself, almost in a set of low mumbling that all men seemed to possess. You sighed, a soft sound that felt like an exhale.

You changed position to fully look at Soldier: 76, eyebrows furrowing as you mentally prepared yourself to talk to him, which was proving to be more difficult than you originally anticipated when considering him voluntarily reading to you. It wasn’t long until he addressed you.

“‘Its rude, watching someone read.’” He quoted you from the conversation earlier, you felt your cheeks growing warmer.

“No - that’s not what I - I wasn’t meanin’ to stare - really. I just…” you trailed off, looking down at your hands, like he’d actually read to you, let alone let you read with him.

“You just what, [Y/N]?” You could feel him looking at you now as you fidgeted with your hands.

“I was wonderin’ if maybe you’d… read it to me?” You bit your lip, looking to your lap where your hands sat awkwardly. He wouldn’t take you up on it… would he?

As silence permeated the space, you were sure he’d say ‘no,’ or ignore you and go back to reading. You pressed your hands together, somewhat shut down. Not that it was his fault, you thought, you shouldn’t have asked. You hadn’t expected the sound and feeling of movement as your gaze climbed upward to discover your commanding officer seated closer to you. He was leaning against the backrest of the couch and had resettled the novel into his hand, so he could read. Your eyes widened. Was he going to read to you?

You looked over him as he turned his head to look at the book, one leg crossed so his ankle sat over his other leg. He started to read, voice still gruff, and gentle. Despite the sandpapery undertone, it sounded deep with a confidence that came with reading things aloud regularly. You found it calming to listen to him read. You moved closer as he read, so you could read along.

It was around thirty minutes later that the two of you found a comfortable position. His arm over the back of the couch, a few inches of space between you as you lent against the couch. Eyes scanning the page as he read, the two of you engrossed in the story as your eyelids started to close, feeling warm next to him. He was like a heater. You relaxed against the couch, knowing you’d be safe in the facility, with your commander there in case something were to happen.

You realised, laying against the couch next to your commanding officer, that he was intensely handsome. He was caring and had a solid work ethic that you knew not only came from a military background, but possibly something earlier on. He had the hands of someone who worked hard for the majority of their life outdoors. He had a soft tone to his voice and was willing to read to you. Briefly, you wondered if he knew about what happened with Hana and Lena that morning.

The words were becoming hard to read as you looked over each one whilst still focusing on his gravelly voice. You found yourself looking up at his masked face, watching him read the story, listening to the way his voice was muffled just enough to take some of the volume in his already low voice away. As if he was only reading loud enough for you to hear.

It wasn’t long until you found your eyes closing, too heavy to open. His voice the last thing you heard as you slipped into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

-

When you woke, you felt warm, and somewhat uncomfortable. Neck leaning against something firm unlike the rest of the surface you were against. You opened your eyes to find the dawning rays of sun shine filter through the windows near the top of the far wall in the common room. You yawned as you went to move, only to realise something was leaning against your head. Moving your gaze, you found that you had fallen asleep against Soldier: 76. You didn’t want to admit that you felt rather _safe_ sitting there, waking up. Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes scanned over his masked face, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way his legs sat, one bent, and the other pushing straight out in front of him.

The book you had been reading was sitting in his lap, his thumb between the closed pages, as though he had fallen asleep while reading. It looked like he had gotten much farther than you had been awake to listen to. You hated to admit it, but you felt a pang in your heat as you thought about how to remove yourself from the position you were in. You missed being able to fall asleep with another person in an environment that wasn’t potentially life threatening. You didn’t get far though, you felt him stir. When he lifted his head, and moved enough to jostle your head, you scrunched up your expression, moaning gently as you sat up, mostly due to the stiffness in your neck.

You could feel him stiffen as you brought your arms up to stretch, sighing as you felt your muscles stretch out and spine pop in a few different places from the apparent dead sleep you had if the marks on your arms were anything to go by. You felt him move beside you as you stretched, presumably to do roughly the same. You rubbed at your eyes as you looked over at him.

“Morning.” You sigh, voice rough from only just waking up.

His response was a low series of grumbling. It seemed he wasn’t quite awake yet. You leant forward as you stood from the couch, momentarily dizzy as your brain caught up with your feet. You shook your head and took a moment, running your fingers through your hair. You glanced at him as he lent down to retie his boots.

“Hey.” You started, causing his gaze to lift up, the lines in his forehead not as prominent as usual, but there enough to show that he probably had his eyebrows furrowed at you. “Why don’t I go make up some coffee while you go get ready for the day…”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked over him quickly, feeling suddenly more awake as you realized, he probably wouldn’t come out to drink it with you.

“I could bring it back to your door for you, so you can have it in your room… If you don’t want to eat in the mess hall?” You added, biting you bottom lip. There was a lull in the almost-conversation as he slowly nodded and stood.

“Okay.” His voice was gravelly, and gruff, most likely with him just waking.

You watch as he turns towards the door, patting you on the shoulder as he goes. Hopefully he’d get to his room okay. When he left down the hall, you made sure to gather your boots and sit them by the door as opposed to by the couch where they had been last night when you started reading. You headed the opposite way from that of your commander. Towards the mess hall, and more importantly the kitchen. You doubted the commander ever ate due to the fact that people were nearly always in and around the mess hall.

You walked through the double doors, finding that Mercy was seated at one of the tables, her elbows leaning against the surface, hands around a steaming cup. Her hair freshly put up. She smiles at you as you walk in her direction towards the kitchen.

“Hello there, [Y/N]!” She smiles at you.

“Morning, Doc.” You nod and indicate to her cup. “Coffee?”

“Tea.” She corrects, taking a sip. “You’re up later than usual.”

You shrug and can’t help but hint at a smile on your face. “I had a good book.”

She offers you a knowing look as you head towards, and into, the kitchen. Inside it was remarkably clean, silver benchtops shining and everything in its own place. The island in the middle had a knife holder with pots and pans hanging above it. You pursed your lips as you walked over to the fridge, you knew that omnics prepared most of the food when it came to cooking. Yet you hadn’t seen them this morning, perhaps on an automated schedule that hadn’t started yet?

You opened the fridge and saw basic ingredients, flour, eggs, butter, milk, tomatoes, and onions to say the least. It was the largest collection of food you had seen in a long time. You set about gathering ingredients to make a decently healthy breakfast. Heating a pan, taking a bowl and whisking eggs, diced onions and tomatoes, spinach, butter, salt, pepper and some bacon. When it started cooking, Mercy walked into the kitchen, rinsing her cup in the sink. You heard her sniff the air, which, of course, had a rather pleasant scent to it due to your cooking.

“I didn’t know you could cook, [Y/N].” She stood beside you and watched as you folded the mixture that was around half cooked.

“I used to cook for my family… Back in Australia.” You said, shaking the pan so that the eggs wouldn’t stick to the already non-stick pan.

“It’s good to see you preparing something other than just a small amount of fruits or vegetables.” She skirted around the subject of your home life, before the army, and the time travel. Which you were only partially grateful for.

“This isn’t really for me.” You state, only giving her the quickest of glances as you turn to the boiled water dispenser.

“Oh?” Her tone was curious now. Intrigued that you’d be preparing food for someone. “Who are you cooking for?”

“Commander America.” You shrug, more or less trying to play it off as a good-natured gesture.

“Soldier: 76?” She sounded a small bit bemused at the statement.

“Yeah, maybe he’ll go easy on me today if I give him breakfast first, y’know?” You smiled a bit as you took down a cup, it was white and had stripes on it. Blue and red.

You turned to see Mercy smiling at you, her arms crossed as she leaned against the bench. You wouldn’t even begin to think that you understood what she had going inside that head of hers. You walked passed, filling the cup with hot water, adding coffee and one sugar. It’d be bitter, just like your commander.

“You know how he likes his coffee.” Mercy commented as you mixed it together, the steam rising as you placed the cup onto the bench so that you could find a tray to transport the food you made.

“Yeah, just something I noticed. Just like Lena doesn’t drink tea unless it’s made from tea leaves.” You stated as you squatted down to pick up a tray from a shelf in the kitchen island.

“You do notice quite a lot, don’t you?” She sounded a tad impressed.

“Active brain, remember?” you state as you stand and walk over to the bend, placing the cup of coffee, and a plate onto the tray.

“Yes… You haven’t experienced any trouble with the higher activity have you?” You shook your head as you platted the omelette.

“No. Only that I notice a tad more.” She hums in thought as you turn the stove off and take the pan to wash it. Placing it on the dish dryer.

You turn and walk over to the bench, picking up the tray and walking to the exit to the kitchen.

“Well, I’d best deliver this before it gets cold. Have a good morning, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Call me Angela.” She calls after you.

You nod as you use your shoulder to open the door, the mess hall still empty. Which made sense, others were probably waking but would be out for perhaps another twenty or so minutes. You made your way to the exit of the mess and towards Soldier: 76’s room, the direction of _your_ room as well. You found yourself slowing your walking pace to stop near one of the terminals inbuilt to the wall. Would 76 even listen to you, and wait at his room?

“Athena?” You call, looking at the terminal.

“Yes, agent?” Athena’s cheerful voice answered.

“Is the Commander – Soldier: 76 still in his quarters?” your thumbs ran across the plastic of the tray you were holding. The screen showed a buffering signal for a moment or two before Athena’s voice wavelength appeared again.

“Yes. Soldier: 76 is located in his quarters.”

“Thank you. That’s all I need from you.” You nodded and headed on your way down the hall. So, he was still in his room, you’d have to make your way there and not dawdle any longer.

It only took around three minutes to get to his room from the mess at full walking speed. Luckily, you hadn’t spilled any of the coffee on your way. You were now standing in front of his door, a tad worried now that you were here. But you straightened your shoulders and took a deep breath before adjusting your grip on your chest so that you could knock on the door. You mind briefly filtering back to when he had scolded you when mindlessly wandered in last time.

As you waited for him to answer the door, you held the tray properly. Eyebrows furrowed as you stood there for a full minute. Then two. Then three. You grew confused and lent down to place the tray on the floor. You wouldn’t wait forever, and honestly, you would prefer to go _shower_ and change to start the day.

You were leaning down, adjusting your fingers on the tray when the door _whooshed_ open. You snapped your gaze up. You saw your commander. His ever-present visor still on his face, hair wet, a pair of sweat pants on as well as a black t-shirt. You swallowed and stood up straight, he looked good. He smelled fucking _terrific._ Something earthy, vaguely woodsy and _masculine._ You found yourself taking a deep breath in through your nose. Your Commanding Officer staring down at you.

“I made you breakfast.” You stated, holding out the tray between you. Your mouth felt dry as you looked up at him. “Here.”

It took a few moments, but he brought his _bare_ hands forward, his fingers touching yours as he took the tray.

“Thanks.” He grumbled quietly while you marveled at just how calloused his fingers were despite wearing gloves all the time.

There was a silence that filled the space between you for several seconds. The tray now sat in his hands, but neither of you really made a move to leave. You should leave, head back to get a drink and maybe some fruit before starting the day. But your feet didn’t want to move.

Someone clearing their throat, however broke _whatever_ it was you were doing. You looked down the hallway and saw Jesse McCree. Your eyes widened a fraction as you stepped away from your Commanders doorway.

“Hope I’m not interuptin’ somethin’.” He smiled at the two of you, his expression obviously showcasing that he wasn’t at all sorry.

“You aren’t. Enjoy your breakfast, Sir.” You said as you walk towards McCree, heading the door _whoosh_ shut a few seconds later.

“What were you doin’ at the commander’s door, darlin’?”

“Bringing him breakfast.” You shrug as the two of you go back down the hall, towards the mess.

“Bein’ a regular ole housemaid are yeh?” His smirk dropping as you elbow him in the side.

“I ain’t no housemaid.” You start. “Besides, it’s not uncommon to bring your C.O. a meal.”

“Sure it ain’t.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you find that your cheeks warm at what was probably a _highly_ inappropriate joke.

You made your way into the hall; a few other agents were sitting around. Some having coffee, tea or another beverage to help them get up and running. You looked towards the kitchen, there didn’t seem to be much movement in that direction, to which your eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, McCree, do us a favour?”

“What errand you gotta run, missy?” He asks as he looks down at you.

“My boots from the common room. I’m probably gonna need them. Be a darl and go get ‘em for me?” You look at him, an eyebrow raised. Your expression one that almost dared him to say no. Essentially your ‘mothering’ expression.

You find that McCree almost does a sort of ‘double take,’ you’re not sure why, but drop the thought as he nods, a smile forming over his regular smirk. A “Yes Ma’am” being sent your way before he heads off towards the common room.

You turned and walked towards the kitchen, for the second time in the past half an hour. You had a feeling that the omnics weren’t working this morning, or at least, they hadn’t started their automatic schedule yet. Given that no one had food that had really been cooked. Perhaps you could spend your Saturday morning making breakfast… like you used to, back home in between tours.

You padded, barefoot into the kitchen and found that the omnics weren’t operating. You looked to see a white piece of paper on the side of the fridge, it was somewhat out of sight. You walked over and read it. The scheduling for meals and maintenance days were written down on the laminated paper. Figures. Today was maintenance. Looks like you’d be cooking more anyway. You looked around the kitchen. Fuck it, you’d make an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink breakfast.

 

About half an hour later, McCree had walked into the kitchen, your boots in hand. You had several pans on the stove, the oven was on as well. So many scents in the kitchen, and all of breakfast foods that you knew how to make. He, like Angela had done earlier, took a deep breath through the nose as you stepped over to retrieve your boots.

“What in Sam Hill have you got going on in here, darlin’?” He said as you took your boots from him and squatted down to put both them and your socks on.

“Breakfast.”

 “I can smell that all the way from the mess.” He indicates the hall through the kitchen doors, a smile on his face. “Smells like yer feedin’ more than an army.”

“I’m sure you kids’ll eat it all just fine.” You tie up your laces and stand, looking up at him.

“I’m older than you, sweetheart, I ain’t no kid anymore.”

“Time travel, remember? _Technically,_ I’m older than all of you.” You smirk at the expression on his face, clearly saying ‘smart-arse.’

You bring your hands up to take your hair in two parts and tighten your pony tail before walking over to wash your hands. The water running as you heard the spurs of McCree’s bootsteps. By the sound of it, he was in front of the stove.

“Don’t you go eating any of that. It’s not ready, and you, cowboy, will get sick.” You said as you dried your hands and walked over to where he was standing. Strong arms crossed over his chest.

“Not even some bacon?” he asks as he goes to reach for a piece.

“No.” you scold as you reach up and flick his ear.

“Ow.” He complains as you reach for a spatula to flip omlettes, bacon, and even pancakes.

“Make yourself useful. Grab some plates, darl.” You almost command of him as you check on the hash browns, and quiche.

Most of the food you had made was different kinds of protein heavy foods. Everyone working for what you were beginning to suspect was a technically Illegal operation, engaged in strenuous work that required large amounts of physical energy. So, protein and good fats were definitely the way to go.

As McCree brought over a stack of plates and carefully placed them down, you found that the food was almost ready. You turned and bent down, taking a stack of trays to set next to the plates, making it easier to put together meals. Turning the stove top off, you started to plate meals foe the agents that were out in the mess, taking on the advice that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

 

When you served breakfast with McCree, you found everyone to be thankful, and almost surprised that you had cooked. Commenting that they had simply thought that they had thought someone by the name ‘Torbjorn’ had finished maintenance and had possibly improved the machines in the kitchen. Hana even mentioned that she didn’t think he’d allow anyone near his ‘babies.’ You found it amusing more than anything, that someone in the base of the semi-professional organization would openly call machines ‘babies’. But to each their own.

You shrugged it off, currently on the way to the trail that ran around the facility. An orange in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. You had showered and figured you’d get to another day of training. Maybe Zaryanova would be around for you to get in some strength training, if not, you could always go a round with McCree in the shooting range.

You stepped outside, the air much cooler, it made chills run along your skin at first, being acclimatized to the regulated temperature indoors. It was cloudy today, the scent of rain already in the air. You smiled as you sat, choosing to eat the orange in your hand now, rather than later as you had skipped eating breakfast with everyone else. You peeled it, and let your mind run over the mission you completed last week.

Angela was good on the field as far as you could tell, and having adequate support was certainly appreciated. She was quiet and kept out of sight, knowing when she was beat in terms of tactical advantage. But Hanzo, the arrow slinging must-regain-honour attitude that seemed to waft off him was annoying as all hell. You could understand wanting to do a good job, but he seemed to have a rather large chip on his shoulder. He’d have to work on that if he wanted to improve. You stood and planted your orange peels into the soft soil beneath a bush near the doors.

You ate your orange as you considered the information you gathered in the club. Human trials were beginning, and you only had around three weeks left to figure it all out before a potentially lethal drug was opened onto the market. You knew you could figure it out, but you just needed more _time._ More time to think on it and get shit done.

The human trials would be starting, and if you could just figure out how to get into the servers of the underground organisation, you’d be able to access the information on Magnil, the drug they’re producing. If you could do that, you could make a copy to look at and dissect, find something to combat both the drug, and it’s production so that it can’t effect people. Especially if it’s one-hundred percent addictive.

As you thought on the Magnil problem, moderately heavy bootsteps fell onto your almost deaf ears. You looked up to see who was approaching, switching from the problem in your head, to the one at hand. A young girl with long, tied back, auburn hair smiled at you. She wore tightly laced up boots, presumably steel capped, her pants tucked into the tops of them, she had a belt to keep them up, a black tank top and a cog tattooed on her shoulder. She was covered in sweat. You raised an eyebrow at her, not having any recollection of who she was or if you had seen her before. You swallowed the orange mush you had been chewing on.

“God morgon!” She calls to you cheerfully, Swedish accent prominent.

“Who are you?” You ask, standing with your shoulders straightened.

“My name’s Brigitte.” She takes a step forward, and you tense. “My father’s Torbjorn.”

You look her over again, her young smiling face was kind, but there was something there to suggest that there were underlying aspects that she tried to keep hidden away. Indicating that she had something to hide, which you didn’t like. The mystery of just who she was caught your intrigue as she puts forward a gloved hand for you to shake.

“Watson.” You said as you took her hand, noting that this young Swede in front of you was the facility mechanic’s _actual_ baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! This is the latest chapter with just off 10,000 words!
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